Fabric of Maturation
by Sandshrew777
Summary: The gang gets transported to and separated in a mystical land. As they journey to find one another, they discover more about each other, and themselves, than they ever thought they could. Troyella, Chadlor, Jelsi, Zekepay. Ryan and Martha are here, too!
1. Wishes

**Author's Note: Welcome! This is the first chapter in what I hope to be an extremely long and drawn out piece. This crosses over our favorite folks from High School Musical with the tale of Baldur's Gate. If you're not familiar with the game, Google it if you like, but you shouldn't need to if I do my job right! Please enjoy the ride.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own High School Musical. I don't own Baldur's Gate. Heck, I don't even own my car.**

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"Good work, everyone. Let's break for...seven minutes," Ms. Darbus announced from the front row of the theatre.

The actors groaned, sighed, and squealed in various states of relief as they crumpled to the floor of the stage, too tired to go anywhere else.

"Evans, I swear, as soon as I get control of my limbs again, I'm going to strangle you for convincing me to do this," Chad muttered.

"Thanks for the warning," Ryan chirped back, massaging his tired calves.

"We'll help," Zeke offered.

"Just as soon as we throttle Troy," Jason grumbled.

"Hey!" Troy objected, pretending to be offended, "It's not like I put a gun to your head or anything!"

"Figures. The first thing on their minds is physical harm. Typical jocks," Taylor needled, grinning at Martha and Gabriella.

"But didn't you say last week after the ensemble number that you wanted to take Sharpay's pink butterfly hair clip and shove it up her---" Martha started.

"Okay! Point made," Taylor said, holding her hands up in surrender, "But it's Chad's fault. He's rubbing off on me."

"Yeah, when's that start going both ways? I wanna be smart," Chad joked.

"I think that ship has sailed," Kelsi teased, sitting down next to Jason, music in hand.

"Kelsi!" Gabriella scolded, slapping her lightly on the shoulder, "Chad is plenty smart. Just...not in the academic world," she admitted, giggling.

"One minute!" Ms. Darbus called.

"If I have to do the salsa one more time, I'm going to open a Mexican restaurant," muttered Zeke.

"Oh, come on, you guys! It's not that bad," Ryan insisted. The group turned as one, affixing him with glares of varying intensity.

"It just seems that way because we're used to it," Sharpay assured him, patting him on the knee, "They just don't have the endurance we have," she said sweetly, sticking her tongue out at the others.

"Yeah, well, just try making twenty foul shots in a row before Coach lets you shower," Troy grumbled.

"What was that, Troy?" Sharpay asked, with a smile so sweet it could cause tooth decay.

"N-nothing," Troy quickly responded.

"Places!" Ms. Darbus called. The group groaned as one, fighting to get to their feet.

"Can we convince you to play the songs really slow this time so we don't have to move so fast?" Zeke asked Kelsi.

"I'll try," Kelsi replied, giggling.

"Ugh. I just wish we could be somewhere else," Martha muttered.

"Anywhere else," Taylor agreed.

"You know what they say," Gabriella warned, shaking her head and smiling, "Be careful what you wish for!"

"Yeah, Ms. Darbus might decide we need to take a field trip to a real museum for 'background experience' or something," Chad said.

"Don't even joke about that," advised Jason, "She might hear you."

"When I said 'places', I wasn't joking! Now, actors!" Ms. Darbus yelled.

The group scattered to their positions, groaning all the way. Kelsi played as slowly as she could without getting caught. Sharpay and Ryan managed to convince Ms. Darbus to take some extra breaks for the ensembles so that the leads could practice the more intense scenes. Together, they made it through the night with enough energy to drive home, splitting up into the usual carpools: Chad, Taylor, Zeke, and Martha in Chad's new car; Ryan, Sharpay, and Kelsi in Sharpay's pink convertible; Troy, Gabriella, and Jason in Troy's worn fixer-upper truck.

"See you tomorrow," Taylor waved as she moved to open the passenger door of Chad's car.

"Bye!" Gabriella waved back as she, Troy, and Jason split to the right.

"Toodles!" Sharpay trilled as her trio separated to the left.

Before Taylor's hand touched the door handle, a comet ripped its way across the sky. Zeke pointed it out, and each of the ten stopped in their tracks, observing it as it zoomed over their heads. As it disappeared from sight, the night seemed to fall down around them, cloaking their eyes in darkness. Some of them reached for their heads, a sudden migraine assaulting their senses. Others doubled over, their stomachs suddenly revolting against themselves. One by one, they crumpled to the ground, dead to the world.

It was the last time they would all be together for a long, long time.

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**Author's Note: Please review!**


	2. Awakening

**Author's Note: Welcome back. I'm going to leave you hanging once more, but trust me when I say that I don't like to do that. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own High School Musical. I don't own Baldur's Gate. I do own a collection of bouncy balls, though.**

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"Ow," muttered Chad, bringing his hand up to ward against the sunlight streaming in the window, "Who turned on the lights?"

"Mmmmfurgle," murmured Taylor. The two struggled to awaken for another second before sitting up straight, suddenly alert.

"What are you doing in my room?" Chad demanded.

"What are you doing in my bed?" Taylor shot back, looking around frantically. "Wait. This isn't my room," she said, softer than before.

"This isn't my bed," Chad realized, looking down at the unfamiliar sheets.

The room, frighteningly wooden in its design, looked nothing like what they were used to at home. Devoid of alarm clocks, posters of half-naked women, chemistry sets, ceiling fans, and computers, it was as if they had transplanted themselves years into the past. Simple wooden walls stared back at them, a simple bedside table and desk situated in the tiny room, along with a roughshod mirror and wooden dresser underneath it. Two simple leather packs sat atop the dresser, filled to the brim with items neither had ever seen.

Taylor turned to Chad, wide-eyed.

"Where are we?" she asked, voice no louder than a whisper.

"I don't know, but I'm not going to sit here and wait to find out," Chad replied, kicking off the sheets and stepping out onto the wooden floor, black socks insulating him from its harshness as he advanced on the packs, wary of some sort of booby trap.

Were the situation less serious, Taylor might have giggled and made some joke about Charlie's Angels, but as it was she could barely speak for her fright. It didn't make sense to her. First they were in the parking lot, then all of a sudden they end up here, in some sort of medieval, ramshackle room that probably couldn't weather a thunderstorm without falling to pieces? Something didn't jive, Taylor knew, and when things didn't fit together, she got annoyed.

So annoyed, in fact, that in order to solve the puzzle she put aside her fear, her apprehension, and her anxiety as she, too, climbed out of the bed and strode over to the packs, far more briskly than her careful counterpart.

Untying the string on the one closest to her, on the left, she pulled out odd object after odd object. First, a rather bulky but surprisingly lightweight metal shield, cut in a simple circular pattern. She crossed to set it on the bed behind her and continued pulling out objects: a necklace that looked like strings of seaweed, dried and tied together; four simple hair ties, rough and inflexible; a small leather pouch full of multicolored beads; another larger pouch full of remarkably smooth stones; something that resembled some sort of slingshot, except more prehistoric; and the most interesting of them all, a book, with a brown cover made of what Taylor knew to be birch tree bark.

Sitting on the bed now with the book, Taylor opened it, reading its pages. Her eyes widened as she took in each new discovery, her mind racing to understand.

"What is it?" Chad asked. He, too, was pulling things out of his pack, so far having set three daggers, a hammer, some sort of medieval metal club, a quiver of arrows, a bow, and a helmet onto the desk.

"It's some sort of...spellbook. I think it's for Wiccans or something," Taylor admitted, pursing her lips as she continued to scan it.

"Anything in there about us?" Chad asked, noticing something odd sticking out from underneath the bed. He bent down to investigate.

"Nothing yet," Taylor said, skimming rapidly.

"Taylor? This is getting weirder," Chad's muffled voice said as he started to grunt, pulling things out from underneath the bed. Taylor stood up, book in hand, watching as Chad pulled out a very large, rectangular shield along with two suits of armor made of what Taylor assumed to be a supple leather. She knelt on the floor next to Chad, who promptly moved the leather armor aside and took her into his arms, placing kisses into her hair as she stared at the book in her lap, her only literary clue as to what in the world was going on here.

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The first thing Jason noticed was that his back hurt. Not his whole back, mind you, just the lower portion of it.

The second thing he noticed was that his nose tickled. He reached a hand up to brush the annoyance away.

The third thing he noticed was that he wasn't alone. His hand connected with something rather furry, and it wasn't his hair, the beginnings of his goatee, or that weird coonskin cap his Uncle Lester had given to him for his eighth birthday.

The fourth thing he noticed, when he opened his eyes, was that he was staring straight into the eyes of an extremely courageous squirrel. They held each other's gaze for an instant. Then, he screamed, and the squirrel scampered out of sight.

The fifth thing he noticed was that falling out of a tree and straight onto your rear end really hurt.

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"Troy. Troy, wake up," Gabriella insisted, shaking Troy's right arm fervently. Troy, mid-snore, sparked to life, looking around blearily.

"Gabriella?" he slurred, then took in her in completely, "Gabriella! What are you doing here? I'm not decent!" he screeched, his voice going up an octave as he sat up, stretching the blanket and sheets up to his neck.

"Troy!" Gabriella insisted, rolling her eyes, "First, it's nothing I haven't seen before. Second, have you taken a look around? I have no idea what 'here' is!" she pressed, waving her hand around at the room.

Together, they took in the elaborate four-post bed with lavender sheets wrapped in hourglass figures around the supports, the unlit fireplace with its mantle decorated in tasteful marble, the plush red chair that looked like it was built for a king in front of a sturdy-looking mahogany desk, and the other luxurious items and furniture.

"Troy?" Gabriella repeated quietly, reaching for his hands, "I'm scared."

Troy patted the empty stretch of the bed beside him.

"So am I," he admitted as she climbed into his strong arms, "So am I."

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After what he assumed was an hour of searching the place, he was pretty confident that he had woken up in some sort of massive public library. The workers were an odd bunch of folks, walking around in robes with hoods over their faces and their noses deep within books.

That was the weird part---maybe it was a trick of the light, or maybe he wasn't quite awake at the time, but more than once he thought he saw the books floating around on their own in front of the workers' faces. He didn't say anything, though. He didn't want his captors to catch wind of the fact that he was awake and wandering around their complex.

He had deduced, after a minute of acclimating to his new surroundings, that he and his friends had been kidnapped. Why, he didn't know. Considering that he was in a library, he supposed that they were going to try and make him learn, but that was just silly. Why would they kidnap him and force him to learn?

There was only one real way out of the place, and that was through the front door. He didn't think it would be very smart to reveal himself and just go walking out the door, where anybody could see him. No, hiding among the shelves and waiting for the workers to be clear of the stairs was obviously the smart thing to do. Besides, he couldn't leave his sister and their friends, who were probably trapped in the locked rooms he'd found on the upper floors.

Nobody was looking. Now was the best time to dash back up the stairs and to the room he'd found himself in earlier. That was probably the best floor to find clues as to what to do. He might even be able to ambush one of his captors.

"Where are you off to so fast, son?" an older man asked.

Ryan whipped around, taking in the man in a simple brown robe and carrying a quarterstaff. He wasn't in bad shape for his age, he noticed, but Ryan knew he could outrun him. Dashing for the stairs, he barely got four steps before he heard an odd chanting behind him. He ran faster as the chanting increased in authority and volume. Just as he got to the stairwell and reached his hand out for the railing, he suddenly found himself stopped midway, completely paralyzed. His heart pounded in his chest and his breath came in rapid bursts, but it failed to reflect in his posture. He started to panic; how could his body just stop working?

Suddenly, he found himself turned around roughly. The old man stood in front of him, eyes ablaze.

"That wasn't very polite of you. Now, where are you off to?" the man repeated, before shaking his head, "Of course. You can't talk. Sorry about that, by the way, but you see, I've never seen you around here before, and I can't have you running off before I find out why you're here. I don't want you hurting anybody, you see, or yourself. Besides, you look like a nice boy," he finished, holding his staff with both hands and stepping a bit away from Ryan.

"The spell should be wearing off any time now. I suggest you don't try and run, or pull out a weapon, although I'm not sure where you'd be hiding one in that tight outfit of yours," the man observed, then went silent, waiting for Ryan to regain control of his body.

After a few more moments, Ryan suddenly found himself able to move again, and promptly fell flat on his face, his body remembering his last intended movement before his brain could correct it. Slowly, Ryan got to his feet, finding the man waiting, obviously ready to strike out at his staff should he try anything funny. Ryan wasn't about to try and fight him, having been on the receiving end of the man's wrath. He held up his hands in surrender.

"Good choice. Up the stairs, please," the man commanded, gesturing with his staff. Ryan turned and returned to his original objective, making his way gingerly up the stairs. His only hope now was to meet one of the workers on the stairs and throw them in the old man's path so he could get away. It had taken him a while to finish his weird little chant; hopefully, by distracting him with the worker, he could get up the stairs and find somewhere to hide.

They made it up to the fourth floor, where Ryan expected to disengage. This was the floor where his "room" was, and he fully expected to be returned to it, to captivity.

"Up the stairs again, please," the old man instructed, and Ryan, surprised, moved up the stairs.

Another chance to break free, Ryan reminded himself, and just as the plan flashed through his head, a figure came down the stairs. Immediately, Ryan sprang into action, hopping two stairs to get behind them and shoving them down into the old man in one graceful, fluid-like motion. Plunging upward, three steps a time, Ryan surged as fast as he could, frantically trying to remember the layout of the floor in his mind.

"Are you okay?" he heard the old man's voice echoing in the stairwell.

"Ryan!" the girl he had pushed shouted simultaneously, and suddenly Ryan knew he couldn't go any further.

Slowly, Ryan trudged down the stairs, hands held up once again in surrender; there his sister Sharpay stood, arms crossed, looking like a ravenous hyena.

"You know each other?" the old man questioned, then shook his head, waving his left hand in the air to clear away the thought, "Never mind. We'll cover this in my room. Miss, if you would follow your escape-happy companion?" he instructed. It wasn't a question---Ryan could tell. Luckily, Sharpay shared that thought and nodded, following Ryan up the stairs to the fifth floor.

"Forward," the man guided, and the pair made their way across the floor until the man stepped out and tapped a door once with his staff. Ryan heard a clicking sound, and the door eased open.

"Inside, please," the old man finished. Ryan entered first, pushing the door open awkwardly. Sharpay followed, her head high. The man entered last, shutting the door quietly behind him and turning to the two teenagers.

"Please sit, my dear," he said, gesturing to the chair near the desk, "The bed, please, young man," he added.

The two took their seats, awaiting the worst.

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**Author's Note: Please review!**


	3. Magic

**Author's Note: Welcome back! Some more scenes for you, revealing more of the mystery. Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own High School Musical. I don't own Baldur's Gate. I do own four pairs of shoes, however.

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The old man sighed heavily as he regarded the two teenagers in front of him. If they were who he was afraid they were, then this was going to get messy. He was so tired of all the senseless killing in the world, killing that he had once condoned, in the name of balance. It wasn't as if he no longer believed in the Harper tenet of preserving the balance over everything, but the past seventeen years with Aveidailya had taught him that sometimes things weren't so cut and dry. It wasn't that easy to maintain the balance, to identify one side as that which was to be preserved.

"I believe introductions are in order. I am Gorion," the man said. Silence reigned for a few tense moments, until the girl rose and smacked the boy on the knee.

"Tell him your name!" the girl hissed. The boy blinked a few times in rapid succession, then nodded.

"Ryan," the boy said quietly. She nudged him with her foot again, and he added, "Ryan Evans."

"And I'm his sister, Sharpay Evans. Pleased to make your acquaintance," the girl finished, extending her hand to shake Gorion's. He transferred his staff to his left hand and took hers in his, kissing it lightly. She giggled.

"Why have you brought us here?" Sharpay asked, smiling, but not taking her seat. Gorion, experienced in reading people far more guarded than this young woman, recognized it instantly as an attempt for her to regain control over the situation.

"I was about to ask you a question of the same direction. I have been within the confines of Candlekeep for the past seventeen years, and in that time there have been very few visitors. None of them have been children," Gorion began, noticing the Evans' bristling at the word 'children', "And so you will understand my curiosity at how today, two of them suddenly appear inside the Keep, without having even aroused the Gatekeeper in the night."

Sharpay pursed her lips before she spoke again.

"I don't know how we got here. I was hoping you would know," she replied, affixing Gorion with a hawklike stare. He was unaffected, but not unmoved; the girl was telling the truth, he realized.

"I do not," Gorion repeated, returning her gaze until she looked away at last, "What is the last thing you remember before coming here?"

"We were getting ready to go home," Sharpay remembered, "And then Zeke noticed a comet in the sky. We all looked up to watch it go by. Then, I got this horrible stomachache, and then I passed out," she finished.

"Did this happen to you as well?" Gorion asked Ryan. He nodded.

"Curious. I have many friends who study the heavens. I will have them investigate the matter for you," Gorion promised, nodding somewhat to himself as he reengaged himself in his thoughts.

"Thank you," Ryan spoke up. Both Gorion and Sharpay gave him a look; Sharpay's of annoyance, Gorion's of curiosity. He filed away the questions he wished to ask the boy for later reference, instead going for a different tack.

"Why did you run when you saw me earlier?" Gorion asked. "You may take your seat once again, Miss...Evans, was it?" he added, trying to placate the girl by keeping her involved. She seemed to be the type that wanted to be included in everything, whether it concerned her or not. Indeed, she took her seat in the desk chair with little fuss, watching as Gorion questioned her brother.

"I thought you were one of my kidnappers," Ryan admitted quietly, staring at his feet. Gorion decided to keep going.

"But why did you run?" he repeated.

"I..." Ryan started, confused.

"You could have tried to fight back, or cast a spell in defense. Why did you run?" Gorion pressed.

"I...I don't know. It was just the first thing I thought of," Ryan admitted.

"Repeat, please. 'Cast a spell'? What do you mean by that?" Sharpay asked, eyes narrowing in Gorion's direction.

"I mean exactly that. For young Wizards, something like Shield or a Reflected Image would be appropriate. There's Armor of Faith for beginning Clerical acolytes, and for Druids---" Gorion prattled, but Sharpay cut him off.

"Wizards? Clerical acolytes? Druids? Are you insane?" Sharpay trilled, rising from her seat. "Come on, Ryan, we're getting away from this freak show," she commanded, reaching for his arm. He retracted it with a jerk.

"No, Sharpay. He's telling the truth," Ryan protested.

"What?" Sharpay huffed.

"He stopped me on the stairs with something. I don't know what it was, but he started chanting, and when he stopped, I couldn't move," Ryan explained, looking up at Gorion for the first time.

"I don't know what land you two hail from, but here, magic is very real, and very dangerous," Gorion warned, waving his right hand at the dresser in the corner. The drawers flew out, the handle detaching from the topmost drawer and spinning across the room like a shuriken, lodging itself into the very top of Gorion's staff, between where his ring and middle finger lay.

"And that is just a cantrip," Gorion said, smiling at the two gobsmacked adolescents.

"Come with me, you two. I will introduce you to my ward, Aveidailya. She will be delighted to have someone else her own age to converse with," Gorion suddenly said to the two, turning and opening the door. In stunned silence, Ryan and Sharpay stood and exited the room. Gorion directed the way from behind with his staff, pointing out the room down the hall where his charge slept.

"She's the only teenager here?" Sharpay asked.

"There's another girl here, Imoen," Gorion said, laughing at a memory of the carefree, impish girl, "She talks far too much, but she's a sweet girl. Right here," Gorion finished, tapping on the door three times with his staff. "Aveidailya? It's Gorion," he called. No answer.

"Aveidailya? Are you awake?" Gorion repeated. Ryan and Sharpay shared a troubled look as he bashed on the door with his staff two more times, brow knitting in frustration.

"Stand back," he ordered the pair, and the two stepped back as one. Gorion let his staff clatter to the ground, his hands moving in erratic patterns. He began to chant, lighter than he had with Ryan earlier, and white wisps began to appear between his hands. They concentrated themselves into the shape of a key, and as Gorion finished his chant, it flew into the keyhole, causing a clicking noise to issue in the quiet hall. Gorion picked up his staff and eased the door open, charging inside.

Sharpay stepped forward to peek inside. From what she could see of the room, it appeared to be in order. Nothing was missing or seemed to be out of place. Gorion stomped about the room, determined to locate his missing ward.

"Maybe she went for a walk?" Ryan suggested, peeking around to look inside as well. Gorion exited the room, causing both to jump backwards.

"Aveidailya does not awaken this early. She also does not lock her door when she leaves. No, something is wrong here. Something is very wrong," Gorion finished, briskly walking past them, heading for the stairs.

"Where are you going?" Sharpay called.

"To follow a hunch. Come along if you wish," Gorion replied brusquely. Sharpay turned to Ryan. He held a hand out in front of him.

"After you, dear sister," he said quietly.

Sharpay sped off after Gorion, Ryan hot on her heels.

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"What did you find out?" Chad asked, sitting down at the table. The din around them buzzed with the clinking of glasses, the slurring of the patrons, and the thudding of boots against the hardwood floors.

"The book belongs to a Druid named Jaheira, according to the runes on the inside cover," Taylor reported, leaning back in the uncomfortable wooden chair, "And apparently she came here with her husband Khalid about a week ago, on a request from their friend Gorion, of Candlekeep. They've been staying here, at the Friendly Arm Inn, in room number twelve, ever since," she finished, fixing Chad with a significant look.

"That's our room, isn't it?" Chad asked after a few moments of thought. Taylor nodded.

"Apparently, Khalid is a fighter, hence all the weaponry and armor," Taylor supplied.

"And Jaheira is a...Druid?" Chad asked, confused.

"Yes. Druids draw upon the power of nature to cast powerful spells, according to Madame Mirrorshade," Taylor explained, her voice quieting, "At first, I didn't believe her, you know. Then the guards brought in one of their hurt patrolmen. His femur was sticking halfway out of his skin. But she just started waving her hands and yelling and all of a sudden the bone started working back into him. Just like that. Like---" Taylor stopped, unable to go further.

"Magic?" supplied Chad, taking Taylor's right hand in his. She nodded, unable to go further. Wiccans and Pagans were one thing---she could write them off as fanatics, willing to believe that they could actually cast spells when, in reality, it was just the power of the mind playing tricks on them. Now, though, she had seen magic performed in front of her very eyes---healing magic, mind, but still magic---and it rocked her world.

"I found out that we're in summer here, although they call it something different. It's around the middle of our August, from what I could tell on their calendars. There aren't any cars, and the roads are pretty primitive, mostly just trails. It's like some sort of medieval world. And nobody's seen either Khalid or Jaheira since last night," Chad added. Taylor nodded, having come up empty on that front as well.

"How long is the room paid for?" Chad asked.

"Another month. Apparently these two were counting on being here for a while," Taylor responded, pursing her lips in thought.

"Any signs of the others?" Chad asked, his voice quieting. Even his hair seemed to lose a bit of its spark.

"Not a whisper," Taylor replied, looking down at the table.

"Hey," Chad immediately said, patting her hand again. Taylor looked up. "We're going to find them," he promised. She nodded.

"Damn right we are," she said, smiling, patting his hand with her free one.

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"This place is so beautiful!" Gabriella shrieked, spinning around the grassy field like a child pretending to be an aeroplane. Troy laughed as he watched her, hands on his hips.

"You've said that for the past ten minutes now, Gabs. It's starting to get old," he teased.

"I can't help it, Troy! Beautiful things deserve to be recognized," she petulantly replied, sticking out her tongue at him.

"Then how come you never do that for me?" Troy asked, raising his eyebrows in a pout.

"Because you're ugly!" Gabriella giggled, dragging out the first syllable of 'ugly' as long as she could.

"Oh, you're going down, Montez!" Troy yelled, grinning like a madman as he tore after Gabriella. They chased each other for a little while before Troy caught up to her, tackling her lightly. They landed in the wildflowers, Troy on top of Gabriella. As they laughed, catching their breath, Troy's expression changed. He began to lower his head, closing in further and further, until he captured Gabriella's waiting lips in his own.

They stayed that way until Troy had to come up for air. He rolled off of her, taking her hand in his as they stared up at the clouds.

"What are you thinking?" he asked, curious.

"I wish the others were here to see this," she said, after a moment of quiet thought.

"Me too," Troy admitted, staring up at a cloud. It looked a little like an apple, he thought, and as he watched it slowly separate into halves, his stomach rumbled into the summer air. Gabriella's tinkling giggle followed, and he grinned, getting up and heading back to their room, running with her all the way.

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"Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit," Jason mumbled.

For the past couple hours, he had been roaming the forest, trying to get reacquainted with his wilderness knowledge. His father took him out rock climbing a few times a year, but New Mexico wasn't really a place where forests flourished, so it didn't really help all that much. He had found some berries along the way for breakfast, which were, he decided, quite delicious.

It was also odd for him to get acquainted to the gear he found himself in when woke up. Along his back was a simple quiver of arrows and a longbow. He knew how to use that, at least, having taken up archery as his arm strength increased during puberty. There was also a sword in a scabbard at his side, about which he knew nothing. He hadn't even played with the prop swords at practice.

Now, he wished he had.

Three eerily white skeletons descended upon him, throwing knives in their undead grip. Jason couldn't believe that there were real skeletons in front of him, but after the first knife whizzed dangerously close to his ear, he converted pretty quickly.

He did the first thing he could think of at the time: run.

He ran, finding the large oak he'd awakened in earlier. Hiding behind it, he pulled out the bow and, with shaky hands, attempted to notch it to get a shot off. As he whirled around, he saw the trio of skeletons coming, searching for him. Jason took a deep breath, fired, and connected with the lead skeleton's skull. It didn't seem to do much, though, and alerted them to his position, as noted by the knife thudding into the tree he had returned to hide behind.

Hiding, he knew, wasn't going to help. These skeletons were hellbent on killing him, for some reason, and he had to take them out. To do that, he was going to have to do it up close and personal, the knives be damned. Shakily withdrawing the sword from the scabbard, he swallowed and stepped out from behind the tree.

"DIE!" he yelled ferally, charging at the skeletons, sword clasped in both hands.

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**Author's Note: Please review!**


	4. Reawakening

**Author's Note: Welcome back. We're now leaving the troubles of Jason, Gabriella & Troy, Chad & Taylor, and Ryan & Sharpay for a chapter or two and heading into those of Zeke, Kelsi, and Martha. I hope you enjoy their subplots, because I've had an idea of what to do with them that I think will make this journey a stellar one.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own High School Musical. I don't own Baldur's Gate. I also don't own a sword, but I do own an ornamental, but very dull, knife.**

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"Awaken, young one," a voice Kelsi would later describe as 'ethereal mercury' instructed. Kelsi stirred, blinking as she took in the sight before her. A woman stood there, her blonde hair twisted and braided with various colorful beads and strings, including a lily near her right ear, which Kelsi noted was pointed. She wore a simple white robe that stretched all the way to the floor. Her hands were decorated with rings of many colors and designs, as well as a simple golden bracelet on each wrist.

What shocked Kelsi into the world of the awake the fastest, however, were the diaphanous wings stretching from the woman's back, lightly flapping with the breeze from the open balcony.

"Be not afraid. You shall not be harmed," the woman instructed her, smiling, large green orbs that were her eyes exuding warmth. Kelsi looked around warily, trying not to scream. It was disconcerting, really, to wake up in a place so foreign to her eyes. The last thing she remembered was staring up at that comet, and then coming down with a terrible headache. She had watched as the others fell, clutching their stomachs and their heads in obvious pain. She remembered stumbling around the parking lot until she collapsed, then crawling over to Jason's unmoving body, trying to rouse him. The headache must have gotten the best of her, she figured, since she was here, in the middle of some fairytale bedroom, beset by some weird, yet beautiful, woman.

"Where am I?" she asked, biting her lip.

"You are among the Avariel," the woman replied, brow furrowing in confusion, "Your kin," she added quietly. Kelsi's brow knitted as well, shaking her head lightly. Her kin were the Nielsons, not the Avariels. She also was pretty sure she wasn't related to any family who enjoyed dressing up in elaborate costumes that included fairy wings. That was just silly.

"I'm sorry, but I'm not one of...I mean...My family are the Nielsons," Kelsi said, rethinking her comment halfway through as to not offend the woman.

"I have not heard that surname among the Avariel," the woman replied innocently, quirking her head to the left slightly.

"Among...the Avariel? What do you mean?" Kelsi asked, clearly confused. The woman was talking as if her last name wasn't Avariel, and if her last name wasn't Avariel, then...?

"The Avariel, child. Our race. The winged elves," the woman explained. Kelsi's eyes widened. Winged elves? This lady was clearly off her rocker. Too much meth, maybe.

"I'm not a winged elf. Those don't exist," Kelsi said, one eyebrow raised.

The woman stared at Kelsi, blinking several times in succession.

"Child," the woman said, looking pointedly at the silver protrusions erupting from Kelsi's shoulder blades, "We have much to discuss."

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"Move, and die," a voice warned.

Martha stirred, feeling a pressure on her throat.

"Who are you, and what have you done with Mazzy?" the voice asked. Its timbre was as cool as an iced-over cucumber, but the short sword held at her throat wavered with an inexperienced hand.

"Who's Mazzy?" Martha asked in return, eyes wide in shock.

"Don't be coy with me!" the man demanded as the sword continued to quiver, "What have you done with her?"

"I'm sorry. I have no idea who you're talking about!" Martha insisted, afraid to move an inch.

The man examined her sharply, as if he was trying to read into her very soul. His eyes latched onto hers like an eagle gripping its mousy prey in its sharp talons, and refused to let go. After a few tense moments, he moved the sword away from her throat, setting it on an oaken desk nearby.

"I sense no evil within you," the man whispered, turning from the bed and rubbing his forehead with his hand, "Please get dressed and join me in the sitting room. There is an evil at work here, and I will not rest until I discover its origin. The sitting room is this way," he instructed, opening the door at the far end of the room.

"But---" Martha began, but the man had already shut the door behind him.

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The room was cold.

Where was the blanket? He groped around blindly in the darkness for the electric blanket that brought him warmth, but it wasn't there. All he could find was a somewhat threadbare blanket made of some rough cloth. He wrapped it around himself, but it did little to warm him.

Groaning and turning over, he opened his eyes and found that he had absolutely no idea where he was. He blinked for a minute, taking the unfamiliar surroundings in, and then did the only logical thing he could think of to do.

Zeke screamed like a banshee on fire.

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**Author's Note: Please review! A simple 'Good chapter' really does make an author's day; it's why we all say that we love reviews!**


	5. Information

**Author's Note:** **Welcome back to the worlds of Kelsi, Martha, and Zeke. I made a minor alteration to the last chapter---Kelsi's wings are now silver, not lavender. I thought the Avariel could have lavender wings, but apparently they usually do not. Oh, well. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own High School Musical. I don't own Baldur's Gate. I don't own a cucumber with my name carved into it, either.

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Kelsi's mind swam.

It was appropriate, considering that the rest of her was swimming as well, but the rest of her was enjoying the luxurious bath that Condra had prescribed to her after their little chat. Her mind, on the other hand, was warring with the dizzying amount of information they had covered.

Apparently, she was among some sort of winged race called the Avariel, and apparently they were really into the whole religion thing. It was the main reason why she was in the humongous bath right at the moment---which, if Kelsi were honestly sarcastic with herself, resembled some sort of massive birdbath---seeing as Condra had wished to leave to seek enlightenment from her goddess.

Kelsi wasn't very religious, herself. She was fine with Ryan saying his little prayers before his performances for everybody's benefit (he actually asked his god to "bless her delightful little fingers", once). She was fine with Gabriella's seriously unhealthy obsession of using "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot" as a vocal warm-up exercise. She was fine with Jason's flat-out refusal to spend any time with her on Sunday because of his devotion to his church and their Sunday evening congregation dinners. She was even fine with Jason's meeting with his youth group every Thursday night and missing the opening night of _Twinkle Towne_ because of it.

But now, she was most assuredly not fine, because she was soaping her body and had absolutely no idea how to wipe clean the wings she had sprouted overnight.

It was like she had landed in some five-year-old's freakish fairytale fantasy with beautiful princesses wearing gorgeous gowns and could just fly away from their problems with their gossamer wings that looked like they came right out of one of those ridiculous posters that World of Warcraft geeks hung in their rooms and drooled over while they pined away for girlfriends that they didn't and would never have.

She knew that ranting and raving inside her head wasn't going to help her get through this, but damnit, it felt good! It felt good to just scream inside her mind, watch the notes fly off of the staff and into a wild composition that she had no idea how to write. It was nice to just let go of control, to let go of the penciled-in schedules and plans and just be.

Being, now, involved wings. She knew that, and after screaming her mental voice raw, she accepted it. Her body's form had changed slightly from the last time she had seen it, and it actually made her look a little better, a little fitter. She had always been a little sprite-like in terms of her weight, but the shortness had always bothered her. Now, if she wasn't mistaken, she was a little taller, at least by two inches, and were those muscles on her petite arms?

They were, but there wasn't time to admire her new body. She had to finish washing and get dressed. Condra had given her some sort of white toga that, according to her, slipped right on, just like the water was over her body.

Kelsi really wasn't much of a water person anyway, though, so she ambled easily out of the bath and moved to dry herself off. It was an intriguing concept; just like a birdbath, there was no need to drain the water. Everyone shared, here. Condra had said that it was a very common thing to do here, sharing.

As she dried, dressed, and departed from the bath (Kelsi was very thankful that her "room" was two lefts down the hall from the bath), Kelsi wondered how exactly she was going to fit in here. More than ever, she remembered Gabriella's face as she entered homeroom that first day. She had seemed so tired, and very nearly green, but she moved with an amazing amount of confidence. Of course, it could have been because she'd seen her karaoke soulmate Troy (And who wouldn't be happy to see those pretty blue eyes, anyway? Jason's held so much more meaning, but the striking color of Troy's always caught Kelsi a little off-guard.), but the sheer experience she had flowing behind her inspired Kelsi far more than Gabriella would probably ever know. Therefore, more than ever, Kelsi missed her girls.

Now she was back in her room, and as she let her thoughts have free reign, she scoured the room for something to write with. In the topmost drawer of the nightstand, a beautifully transparent glass jar sat, full to the brim of ink. Shrugging, Kelsi grabbed it and the eagle feather quill (she wasn't sure it was eagle, but she felt like giving it a species and it looked close enough) adjacent to it, then looked around the room for something onto which she could transcribe her inspiration. The melody ran through her head like the breeze through her new wings through the open balcony window, and she couldn't---wouldn't---ignore it.

Finally, her eyes alighted upon a small journal on a desk. She walked to it with the ink and quill in hand, opened it, and found it nearly empty. Sitting, she dipped the quill into the ink and started drawing a treble clef.

Some things never changed.

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"Master Corthala?" Heevo asked, easing the door open.

On the bed sat a young man, and while his skin certainly was the correct hue and his body resembled Master Corthala's lithe form, it wasn't Master Corthala sitting on the bed. First of all, Master Corthala's simple dreadlocks had vanished. Secondly, the man was obviously frightened half to death, and in all of his years serving Master Corthala, Heevo had never once seen Master Corthala display his fear so overtly. Lastly, the scream that had been let loose just a few seconds earlier was so high-pitched that he thought it was the sound harlots made when you pinched them on the behind.

Not that he knew anything about that, of course.

"All right, lad. Keep your hands where I can see them and I won't get my spear and run you through with it. Got it?" Heevo commanded. The young man nodded quickly, plunging his hands into the air.

"Good. Your name, please," Heevo ordered.

"Z-Zeke," the boy whispered, obviously nervous. Heevo smiled, attempting to perfect his sneer. If he managed to intimidate the boy into telling the truth, he could get to the heart of this matter before breakfast.

"Zeke, who employed you?" Heevo asked calmly.

"Employed? Um...Mr. Fulton," the boy replied, then hastily added, "But that was only for the summer."

"I see," Heevo muttered, ransacking his brain. He couldn't think of any wizards with the first name or surname of Fulton, and no organizations ran through his mental files with the title of Summer. This 'Mister Fulton' was either an old nemesis using an alias or an entirely new threat altogether.

"And how did you come to get here?" Heevo pressed.

"I don't know," the boy admitted.

"Oh, come now. Surely they told you. Teleportation scroll? A Limited Wish spell? Or did you just sneak in while your associates lowered the wards?" Heevo pushed, examining his nails.

The boy remained silent, his eyes as wide as the dinner saucers Master Corthala had purchased in Trademeet.

"Fine. I'll just go get my spear, then," Heevo warned, half-stepping backwards out the door.

"I don't know how I got here! I'm telling the truth!" the boy insisted. Heevo stepped fully out the door and grabbed the spear he kept attached underneath the railing on the stairs. In three fast steps, he was back in the room and had the long weapon pointed at the boy's throat.

"Care to change your tune now?" asked Heevo casually. The boy did something Heevo thought was intriguing. Instead of spilling his guts like he had been expecting, he seemed to solidify, but not like a Wizard casting his Stoneskin spell.

"You want to kill me? Fine. Go ahead. Just don't hurt my friends," he said, lips pursing in defiance. Heevo quirked an eyebrow, brows furrowing in confusion.

"Friends?" Heevo repeated. The boy was spilling his guts now, sure, but with more backbone than he'd first thought he could possess.

"Yeah, my friends. Jason, Troy. Sharpay," he rattled off the names. Heevo caught the emotional twitch on the last name before the lad regained control of his voice.

"I don't know where you took them, but I beg you: don't hurt them. I'll do anything," the boy promised. Heevo backed the spear up about an inch, recognizing his chance. Obviously, the young man thought his comrades had been captured in their attempt to assassinate Master Corthala. Heevo knew that wasn't the case, but what he did know was that this was the perfect time to do some master manipulating.

"Very well. Down the stairs, and if you try anything, I'll make sure to send your regards to Sharpay in the form of a dagger," Heevo threatened, smiling with the sneer again. The boy untangled himself quickly from the sheets and Heevo danced around him with the spear, poking him in the back with the broad side of the blade so as to not draw blood as the two exited the room and headed downstairs.

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"Mazzy is missing, Patrick," the man with the deep voice says.

"I'm aware of that," the man Martha knew to have the piercing eyes responds.

"Are you really? Because I don't think you understand the gravity of this situation," Deep Voice accuses.

"I don't understand the gravity?" repeats Piercing Eyes, his voice dangerously calm.

"Did I stutter?" Deep Voice spits.

"You do it, you know. Remember when you walked in on me changing, four eyes?" taunts a feminine voice.

"Shut up, Vess!" Deep Voice and Piercing Eyes echo.

"Look, Patrick, I know Mazzy's your girl and all---" starts Deep Voice.

"And that's exactly why we have to get her back!" screeches Piercing Eyes.

"And what about the people in Imnesvale? They're just supposed to sit there and wait while their people get mauled to death?" Deep Voice asks.

"Merella can handle it until we get there," Piercing Eyes assuages.

"Merella's one person. We're six," Deep Voice points out.

"No, Vance, we're five! We're six with Mazzy, and we are not going anywhere to do anything without our leader!" Piercing Eyes insists.

Silence. Then:

"Do we know anything about the girl?" Deep Voice asks.

"She's pure. She knows nothing about the kidnapping," Piercing Eyes replies immediately, his voice devoid of all its previous blaze.

"No ransom notes in the room?" Deep Voice presses.

"Do you think I had time to turn the room inside out? In case you haven't noticed, Vance, there's a scared little girl in there who probably thinks we're going to kill her!" Piercing Eyes shoots back, the fire returning as easily as it had left.

"Which is why we need to be calm, now," a fourth voice insists quietly, a soothing tone.

"You're right, Delilah," says Deep Voice after a long sigh, "Let's focus on damage control first."

"Are we all calmed down now?" a charming brogue cuts through the air, "'Cause the lass is waiting outside the door."

Martha backs away from the closed door, her back connecting with the wall too fast for her liking. Desperately, she regains control of her head in time to mime a knock just as Piercing Eyes wrenches the oak door open.

"In, please," he directs, and Martha haltingly steps through the door, beset by five pairs of eyes all taking in her every movement.

"Don't worry, girlie," Charming Brogue says, grinning as he sets a dagger he had been using to clean his nails aside, "We're not goin' teh hurt yeh. We just need teh ask yeh some questions, and then yeh can be on yer way."

Martha nodded. She didn't really have a way to go, but hopefully these people could answer her questions to help her find her friends. Maybe, Martha thought to herself, it could even be an exchange of services.

By Jove, she thought with a sudden smile, that was it!

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**Author's Note: Please push the little button and tell me what you think. All reviewers get warm, fuzzy feelings. (Well, okay, I can't guarantee it, but I'll send you good thoughts, all right?)**


	6. Misjudgment

**Author's Note: Welcome back! It's time to jump back to our friends whom we last saw in chapter three. Please enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own High School Musical. I don't own Baldur's Gate. I do own a Pichu poster, however.

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Ryan hated feeling disoriented, a fear his sister would be the first to ardently (and falsely) deny that she shared. When they had been at Lava Springs and Sharpay lost her balance, he reached out for her, trying to save her from her bubbly fate, but he was a step too late. A failure. Just like usual.

The worst part of it all was that he pulled back in the middle of his failed heroic attempt, too afraid that he would overbalance and tumble in right after her. Chalk another point up to the legion that already belonged to the towering figure that was Fear.

Fear had attacked once again today, the relentless nemesis that haunted Ryan everywhere he went. This morning, he had awoken to unfamiliar scenery and immediately his imagination warped into overdrive. It had been stupid to think that Gorion, of all people, would try and kidnap him and his friends, he now knew, but it had been a victory of sorts after all. Instead of succumbing to terrified inaction, he had acted. The only problems were that he had failed, and that he was wrong. Just like usual.

He was not Fear's only victim, though. Gorion had been struck deaf, dumb, and blind by it the instant he realized his ward Aveidailya had vanished without a trace. He had ran out of the Central Keep, the building that Ryan had spent the morning exploring, with a speed Ryan had to work hard to match. The nearby Candlekeep Inn (Ryan was relieved to finally have a name for this place) held a friend of Gorion's, a rather stocky jokester named Winthrop.

He had a friendly enough face and demeanor before Fear swept him up in its claws. When Gorion asked if Imoen, the girl Gorion had said was the only other teenager in Candlekeep, had come down for breakfast yet, Winthrop shook his head, insisting that Imoen was a late riser. Gorion demanded that he go check and see if she was in her room. Winthrop gave him a mystified look, but promptly moved to a room behind him and knocked on the door, calling out Imoen's name, but Ryan had seen this before and knew what came next.

Indeed, Winthrop entered the room, investigated, and came up empty. He immediately inquired of both the patrons in the Inn Imoen's whereabouts, but they insisted that they had not seen her since last evening. One man, in a rather ridiculous kelly green get-up that Ryan thought made him look like a walking carpet, offered to Divine her location. Winthrop accepted, eagerly clasping his hands together, hoping the man could find her. The man pulled back his hood, leant backwards, arms outstretched, and mumbled the arcane words underneath his breath. Tense minutes flicked past until the man resumed his normal posture, shaking his head.

"I cannot find her anywhere in the Prime," he whispered, extending a hand of comfort onto Winthrop's shoulder. He acknowledged it silently, grief sinking him into a threadbare couch.

"What about Aveidailya?" Gorion asked. The man repeated the process with the same result, except the comforting hand never made it to its intended target.

"They must have excellent shielding," Gorion protested, and in a whirlwind of brown, pushed past Ryan and Sharpay and exited. The twins stopped, sharing a look of confusion as the man who had performed the "Divining" (some sort of GPS-like spell, Ryan had assumed) shook his head.

"I shall endure to double-check the matter with Tethoril and Ulraunt, but..." he said quietly.

"You would have seen the barrier. I know," Winthrop replied, his voice deadened.

Ryan turned to Sharpay, and without a word they left the pair behind, catching sight of Gorion's ragged brown robe tearing across the grounds towards the Central Keep. They followed him, from a distance, until he stopped at his room and slammed the door shut. Ryan dared not go in, but he didn't know what to do without instructions, so he simply plunked down in the hallway outside his door and waited. Sharpay chose to pace, instead, her patience for his situation rapidly fading.

"Is he ever going to come out?" Sharpay asked suddenly.

"Shar, he just found out his daughter---well, foster daughter, I guess---just got kidnapped. Or worse," Ryan insisted, gulping at the thought of two innocent girls being murdered. This place seemed so peaceful, so hidden from the world. It was like a little preserved paradise. Ryan didn't want to believe that Fear's partner in crime, Death, could reign here as well.

"I know, Ryan!" Sharpay snapped, but didn't say any more, just continuing to pace even faster in the tight hallway. Her right hand was on her right temple, supported at the elbow by her left arm. Ryan recognized it as her 'thinking pose'.

"Isn't it funny that the same night Imoen and Aveidailya disappear, we show up?" she said after a while, her pace slowing until she finally stopped.

"What do you mean?" Ryan prompted, brows furrowing.

"I mean that I think whoever sent us to this...place," Sharpay said, waving her left hand around grandly, "Also had a hand in taking Imoen and Aveidailya."

"I agree," Gorion said suddenly, the door opened without either twin noticing. Ryan scrambled to his feet. Sharpay stepped a little closer to the door.

"It seems we have a whole lot more to discuss than I thought. Please come inside," Gorion instructed, heaving a heavy sigh.

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The knives flew hot past his face, threatening to mar his skin, but he paid them no heed. He kept his eyes on the lead enemy, the one closest to him, and when he thought he was in range, he swung the sword wildly from right to left, heaving a heavy blow that sliced the skeleton clean in half. It collapsed noisily into a pile of bones, the dull white glow behind the skull's eyesockets evaporating.

Jason had no time to celebrate. The momentum of the strike sent him spinning wildly, unintentionally dodging a dagger meant for his jugular. When he righted himself at last, the world spun slightly, but abruptly righted when he saw the bone coming straight for his face. Not having the time to wonder how in the world the skeleton had managed to rustle up a new weapon from practically nowhere, Jason listened to his instincts and ducked.

He backed up, out of the skeleton's reach, but it advanced on him. There was still the other one, throwing knives, Jason remembered as one sailed just over his head. He knew he had to act fast, or get hurt.

Or killed.

The makeshift mace came barreling for his head again. Jason swerved to the right, heaving the sword blindly in the skeleton's direction. He caught it on the hip and sent it flying into the ground, where it crumbled and cracked apart.

He turned and ran at the last enemy. It readied a knife, rearing back, but Jason lifted the sword high and plunged it, two-handed, into the skeleton's ribcage. Knife, skeleton, sword, and boy all fell as one.

Jason panted, the sword jarring him as it stuck into the ground. He tumbled downwards, and upon landing, and felt a sharp pain slicing into his lower back. Groping blindly, he found the offending object and tugged. With trepidation, he brought it into view.

An acorn.

He started to laugh, adrenaline and relief flooding his deep-throated chuckles.

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She said she was sorry, but she knew it wasn't enough.

It had all started so innocently, just like everything seemed to with her. Troy was puttering about the kitchen of the homey little cabin, trying to find something adequate for the both of them for lunch. She stayed in the dining room, sitting and reading the book she had found in one of the drawers of the beautiful mahogany desk in the bedroom.

The words were unlike those she had ever seen before, and she had seen some eclectic sources. It wasn't in any language she'd ever encountered. It didn't look like it was some sort of chemical equation, either. The artistic introduction at the top of the page looked like it said something about a 'Magic Missile', although she wasn't sure that was what it meant in English.

Still, she liked learning about rocket science, and this seemed like an interesting read---if only she could translate it!

She read it out loud a few times, trying to figure out the puzzle. Maybe it was supposed to be like that game where you had to say everything jumbled together really fast until it made sense? The looks on the people's faces on the commercials when they realized that they were saying "I'm a love machine" came to mind, and she giggled. Troy heard her.

"What's so funny?" he asked, cutting up one of the apples that he had found in the cupboard.

"Just remembering a funny commercial. D'you know of any language that sounds like this?" she inquired, then said the words that had been bouncing around in her head for the fast five minutes.

As the last syllable rolled off of her tongue, a glowing pink ball suddenly ripped into the air, shooting out from her and heading straight for Troy. It hit him in the back of his right leg. He screamed, dropping the knife on the counter as he collapsed, holding his leg in agony.

"Troy!" Gabriella yelled, nearly overturning her chair in her haste. She scrambled over to him, kneeling down to see him grimacing, his breath coming in short tears as he valiantly held the shouts of pain down.

"Take off your pants!" she ordered. Troy looked at her, scandalized.

"Gab!" he managed to hiss.

"Troy, this is no time to be modest! Just take them off, or I'll take them off for you!" she screeched. Lips pursing and jaw clenched, Troy moved as fast as he could, shrugging off the loose trousers he had found in the bedroom closet. Gabriella saw the welt immediately on the back of his thigh and winced. Troy twisted to examine it as well.

"It's okay, Troy, it's not that bad," she assured him, trying to ignore the raised skin that seemed to pulsate before her, "I'll be right back, I need to get some supplies," she promised, rising as her First Aid experience took over.

She treated the wound with quiet efficiency and had him bandaged and on his feet in no time.

"Did you see how it happened?" he had asked, crunching into his half of an apple after the pain started to abate.

She said she was sorry, but she knew it wasn't enough.

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**Author's Note: Please leave a review!**


	7. Powers

**Author's Note: Welcome back! I'm trying to tie up some loose ends with the beginnings of this story so we can transition into the real meat, but it's difficult. I hope you're staying with me!**

**Note (Part II): Some of the dialogue from this chapter is ridiculously close to what's in the game. I'm just borrowing it. It sure as heck ain't mine.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own High School Musical. I don't own Baldur's Gate. I don't own a proper suit, either.

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Chad wasn't sure how it had happened, but in the past week he had done more research than he ever did in his years at East High. He supposed that it wasn't so much of a chore because basketball wasn't getting in his way any longer; he had cased the place three times, searching for something similar to a basketball, but the closest approximation was an oddly-colored chicken that squawked at him when he got too close.

Of course, it could also be that this was an interesting little mystery that he had stumbled upon, and for the longest time mysteries and cloak-and-dagger missions had caught his eye. The action-packed novels about dashing heroes wooing the ladies with just a glance while beating off six bad guys at once had kept Chad's interest for years. They were the only books he ever read, except for an occasional foray into a text for English class, a subject about which he routinely failed to care. He would have failed his English classes, and, thereby, be ineligible to play basketball, were it not for Zeke and Troy's repeated intercession on his behalf (which, usually, consisted of a five-minute brief of the novel before the test and placing their papers in spots on their desks where it was easy for Chad to copy their answers).

Whatever the case was, Chad found himself knee-deep in maps, journals, histories, and myriad other sources of the written word, day after day, candle-lit night after night. Through it all, he had managed to pull together some semblance of this world's geography, culture, and eccentricity.

They found themselves in a place called the Sword Coast, Chad discovered the second day. The tall fortification that had been his and Taylor's sanctuary was called the Friendly Arm Inn, a common rest spot of travelers and adventurers seeking to venture into the relatively nearby Cloakwood Forest or into the grandiose city known as Baldur's Gate to the north.

There were close settlements spread around the continent as well, although none of them seemed familiar to Chad. To the west, a secluded area known as Candlekeep sat. Chad had found that it was a place of reclusive learning, and that you had to give them "a tome of great value" in order to gain entrance, which sounded absoutely ridiculous. It was like a private school for this world's nerds. He had charted it on his map nonetheless, shaking his head at the absurdity of such a place.

Immediately to the south lay a town-bordering-on-a-city named Beregost. It seemed innocent enough to Chad, having seen little evidence in his sources to suggest that it was a cutthroat place. More likely, he had read, it was a source of commerce for the farming communities found relatively nearby and had flourished only because it was a convenient stop for nearly anyone in the Sword Coast, seeing as it was nearly smack dab in the center of Chad's map.

Further to the south, bordering on a new continent called Amn about which there was much grumbling in the Inn, a city named Nashkel sat. Besides its connections with the Amnish lands, about which Chad had discovered little, Nashkel operated mines that were the main source of iron ore in the continent. Of late, they had been producing faulty ore. Chad had discovered from the mumbling masses in the Inn that the faulty ore created poor metalwork, including weaponry, that broke far more easily than it should. It was starting to become quite the nuisance, Chad gleaned, but nobody seemed eager to actually do anything about it, and the governments here, which were relatively primitive, held little power and control. They seemed to be waiting for some sort of heroes to ride in and save the day.

From what Chad had found in the history books, heroes were not uncommon in this world. Wielding both might in the magical and martial arts, groups of adventurers would come together to defeat valiant evils (or, in some cases, uphold the evils, although there were relatively few of those examples). The tales of their exploits were particularly gripping, and more than once Chad found himself learning how the phrase 'tearing yourself away' had come into popular lexicon.

Now, he was looking forward to tearing into a good meal. Since they had been marooned here at the Friendly Arm exactly one week ago, the meals had been rather basic, but Chad really didn't care. A lifetime of cafeteria food and home meals that came out of boxes were hardly more luxurious than simple stew and water (He had politely refused the ale that Bentley Mirrorshade, the innkeeper, had offered him their first night here, wanting to keep his wits about him.). What was surprising about the whole food dilemma was that Taylor, whom Chad knew enjoyed expensive foods, especially chocolates, had not complained, either.

As usual, he was the first to their table tonight, and, as usual, his thoughts drifted to his girlfriend. He knew she was holed up in Room Twelve, just as she had been for the past week. Occasionally she would come out for a breath of fresh air and walk the Inn's grounds, but for the most part Taylor stayed up there, trying to piece together the puzzle that was the Druid Jaheira's book (and, more grandly, her life) all on her own. He had offered his assistance with the book and with Khalid's history, but she had waved him off, protesting that researching as much as he could about the area would help them more than trying to figure out some silly little book's secrets. He had noted that her argument was hypocritical at the time, but didn't say anything. With Taylor, it was usually best to just nod your head and do what she asked of you without probing for the reason why.

Finally, just as the stew started to approach an edible temperature, Taylor bounded down the steps and over to their table. Chad recognized the change in her demeanor, and when she got close enough for him to take in her jubilant smile, he knew that she had at last cracked the code, so to speak.

"Try to eat while you spill your guts," he joked as she slid into her seat. For a moment, he had the urge to be chivalrous and go over and tuck her chair in for her, but mentally shrugged it aside. It would just embarrass her, he figured, and she probably wouldn't be comfortable with him being all "male dominance mode" on her, as she often had complained that summer.

"Don't you think they're perfect?" she asked, jarring him from the dangerous realm of thoughts about home. He looked to her outstretched palm, which held four rather large, purple berries. He reached for one, but she abruptly swept them out of sight again, looking at them adoringly as she justified her actions.

"I was reading Jaheira's book and I came across this recipe for something called Goodberries. Well, it wasn't exactly a recipe, more of a chant, really, but it had a list of ingredients that would preserve them if you incorporated them into the chant, so I got curious today and went outside to get them," she quickly explained. Chad recalled her zooming past him twice, a flurried greeting whisked his way as she zipped along. The second time, she had nearly knocked over the reports he had gathered on the halfling village of Gullykin in the far eastern portion of the continent.

"Well, I got them and tried the spell and I couldn't believe it. The bark---the recipe called for oak tree bark---started to glow and the pine needles started to spin around and before I knew it, there these little beauties were," she prattled, practically glowing. Chad grinned, happy to see that his girl was finally sharing some sort of enthusiasm about their situation. He had been growing increasingly worried that she was sinking into some sort of depressed slump since they had unceremoniously landed in the Inn.

"It was just like my first chemical reaction," Taylor whispered almost reverently as she heartily tucked into her stew. She made a slightly disgruntled face at her first bite.

"Pfaugh," she complained, making an act of swallowing, "The first thing I do when we get back home, after taking a proper bath, is have some lobster. This stuff tastes like shoe polish."

Chad's grin widened. His Taylor was back, and in prime form.

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It had taken nearly all day to find the road that led to Beregost. Of course, Jason had no idea that this was where the road went, but upon figuring that all roads lead to somewhere important, he decided to see where it would take him. With his bow secured at his back and his newly triumphant sword at his side, Jason felt almost comfortable in the leather jerkin.

Almost.

The road he was walking on obviously couldn't support cars, so he knew he had to be on some sort of backwoods trail in the boonies. You know, the kind of boonies with reanimated skeletons trying to kill you. The memory of his attack made him shiver involuntarily, although the summer air and birds tweeting merrily would never understand why.

Before the sun set, he found himself encroaching upon a slew of houses knit together in the countryside. The trees were lessening in number on each side. He had found it spooky to have seen absolutely no other animals or humans on the way, and so when the sounds of parents calling their children in to dinner filled his ears, he felt instantly relieved.

Of course, the relief didn't last long. As soon as he stepped foot into the town, he felt the weight of the day fall squarely on his feet. They were aching, he realized, in the tight boots that he was wearing. In fact, he thought as he looked down at them, he wasn't even sure he could get his feet back into them if he took them off.

Even more disconcerting to him were the people he saw. Someone dressed such as he, Jason had thought, would attract attention, but if he received any looks, it was he perhaps a quick once-over, and that was it. People were zipping to and fro, dressed in drab clothing that must have been fashioned to not get in the way. There were even some people that looked, oddly enough, rather like him, except in even more extravagant colors and tastes. One warrior-type walked by with a massive shield in one hand and a rather funny-looking helmet with a red feather sticking out of it. Assaulted by the sudden comparison to Yankee Doodle, he laughed out loud.

Well, at least that still got looks.

Jason soon realized that in order to figure out where in the world he was, he was going to have to approach somebody. Before he could even think of the person he wanted to disturb, however, somebody accosted him, his lilting voice reminding Jason somewhat of Ryan Evans.

"Hail there, Adventurer! I have a proposal for you!" the voice said. Jason twisted, looking around, then pointed at himself.

"Me?" he asked, confused.

"Yes, you!" the voice said. It belonged to a young man, in a striking brown and gold outfit, complete with a hood. Jason noticed the sword at his side. It probably wasn't for decoration.

"How would you like a well-paying job as a bodyguard for my mistress?" the young man asked. Jason winced, about to refuse instantly, before his mind sparked into life. He was going to need money in order to get a hotel room, and this was the perfect way to get money. Plus, this guy or his mistress (Jason was shocked that someone his own age could be married and already cheating on his wife) would have some sort of phone that he could use to call home and tell his parents that he was okay. Then he could find out where his friends went, too.

Besides, bodyguards almost never had to really do their job, Jason figured. They just stood there and looked tough. He could do that.

"Sure, dude. What do I gotta do?" Jason asked, smiling. The boy grinned back at him.

"Excellent! I'm Garrick," he introduced, and Jason immediately stuck out his hand, cutting off further speech.

"Hi, Garrick. Cool name. I'm Jason," he said. Garrick, taken somewhat aback that he had been cut off mid-speech, nevertheless recovered easily and shook Jason's hand ardently.

"I work for Silke Rosena. She's the most skilled musician and actor along the Sword Coast," Garrick boasted, grinning. Jason's own grin faded a little. Great, he thought, he was probably going to be stuck working for another Sharpay. Just great.

"She's been...having some problems of late," Garrick admitted, and Jason realized he had missed part of whatever Garrick had been saying previously, "Some thugs have been hired by Feldepost to hurt her bad," he said, his voice turning graver. Jason's eyebrows rose.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because she didn't perform at his inn when she was supposed to," Garrick explained, "You can't blame her for not showing up, what with a villain like Feldepost running the place," he added, nodding vigorously. Jason shrugged.

"I'm not really too familiar with this place, so I don't really know who this Feldepost guy is," he admitted, "But it's definitely not cool to beat up a girl, especially when all she did was not show up for a gig," Jason said forcefully. Garrick looked confused for a minute at Jason's language, but carried on nevertheless.

"Well, until she's ready to go to Baldur's Gate to perform, she needs bodyguards to keep her safe. She's paying 300 gold," Garrick finished, confident that this would secure the deal. Jason, mystified as to what 300 gold would get him here, merely shrugged and nodded.

"Great! Follow me," Garrick ordered, and the two started walking towards a building with a sloping red roof.

"Do you guys have a phone out here?" Jason asked, looking around for electricity lines or telephone poles.

"A...what?" Garrick asked.

"A phone. If you don't have a cell, a land line is fine. I just need to call home," Jason explained.

"Oh. Well, I'm sure we can find somebody to send a message for you," Garrick promised, much to Jason's delight.

"Mistress Rowena! I found you somebody," Garrick called. A woman stood outside the inn, clothed in all black, tapping her foot impatiently.

"This is the only mercenary you could find?" the woman sneered, looking at Jason with distaste. He sighed inwardly; it was another Sharpay, all right.

"Oh, well. You'll have to do," she said airily, "My name is Silke Rowena, and as I'm sure Garrick already told you, Feldepost's thugs have threatened me with bodily harm if I don't come to his inn and perform. And he wants me to do it for free!" she squealed, indignant, hawking a quick laugh.

"I told them no, of course, but they refuse to listen. This is where you come in, my dear," she informed Jason, smiling, "You will defend me if any of them makes a move against me. Do not strike until I tell you to, and whatever you do, do not speak with them. I will do the talking. One of them is a mage whose mystic words could turn even a paladin against his own people," Silke warned.

Jason had no idea what she was saying, hardly able to keep up with the woman's quick pace, but nodded anyway. Footsteps approached, and Silke tensed, turning to meet three rather plump and seemingly innocent men.

"Mistress Rowena, there you are. Master Feldepost would like you---" one of them began.

"I'm sure he would like a lot of things, slug. I have given you my answer. Leave me alone," Silke demanded.

"Mistress Rowena, there must be some mistake. Master Feldepost was just wondering if you were all right, having missed your engagement---" another started.

"Oh, so he inquires about my health? Wants to see if one of his assassins has caught me, eh?" Silke pressed, her voice inching up two octaves. Jason shared a look with Garrick, who seemed somewhat puzzled as well at the conversational exchange.

"Assassins? Is someone after you, Mistress Rowena?" the third inquired, looking concerned.

"As if you didn't know! But you'll never take me alive!" Silke cawed, then turned to point at Jason. "You! Attack them!" she commanded.

Jason gave her a confused look.

"Mistress Rowena---" Garrick broke in.

"Miss Rowena, I think maybe you've got the wrong people," Jason tried to placate her.

"And I think you must be DEAF!" Silke screeched, advancing on Jason. He took a step backwards. "Attack them, now, before they incapacitate us with their magic!" she yelled. Jason took another step backward, but then stopped his backwards descent. Obviously this woman wasn't thinking straight, Jason realized.

"I'm not going to fight these guys. I'm sorry. They haven't done anything wrong," Jason insisted. Silke's brow furrowed, and her eyes almost seemed to darken as they narrowed to tiny slits. Her hands reached behind her back for a silver quarterstaff slung across her back as she spoke.

"I see. I should have known. You looked too cowardly to do the job, anyway. I'll take care of them, later---after I get rid of you!" she promised, and began to spin the staff, intoning weird words Jason had never heard before.

The world collapsed into noise all around him. He looked to Garrick, who seemed stunned, blinking in awe at the sight unfolding before him. The three men backed away hurriedly, gobsmacked at Silke's actions. Townspeople who were watching the scene develop screeched, running away frantically. Jason wasn't sure what to do, having never dealt with a psychotic person before.

"Miss Rowena?" he asked just as she stopped chanting. Her head snapped up, her eyes fixated on him with unadulterated rage. Her spinning staff stopped abruptly, and from its center a bolt of pure lightning erupted, heading straight for Jason's head.

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**Author's Note: Please review, or add this to your favorites, alerts, or C2 Community! Just let me know that you're along for the ride as well.**


	8. Girls

**Author's Note: Welcome back. In this chapter, we explore things inside the minds of our other two duos. Not much action in this one, I'm afraid, but don't worry...we'll get back to Jason and the lightning bolt heading at his face next time!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own High School Musical. I don't own Baldur's Gate. I do own a slightly unhealthy number of water bottles, both filled and unfilled.

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**

Ryan smiled at nothing in particular.

Well, no, that wasn't quite true. He was smiling at the tall grass gently blowing in the wind. It was often trampled underfoot by the Watchers, guards who carried long staves in their hands as if they were torches instead of weapons, but the grass always rose back up to sway with the breeze. Ryan admired its inability to give in to all of the people trying to crush it into the ground.

Grass was so simple, and so plain. He never would have given it a second thought back in Albuquerque.

Scratch that. He would have given it a second thought---and a third, fourth, and fifth, too---had it not been for Sharpay.

He loved his sister dearly, really, he did, but some days he felt like he was trying to convince himself of that fact instead of reminding himself. She was like an overbearing mother hen, without the openly nurturing attitude. Every morning she would pick out his clothes for him. Once, when they were in the third grade, he wanted to wear a navy beret his mother had given to him the night before when they met her at the airport. The nanny had insisted on bringing them to see their mother in, saying that it would do her some good after a week with the disgusting French. Ryan didn't know why the nanny was so mean, at the time (in fact, he thought with a sudden amusement and sadness, he still didn't know), but the mystery flew out of his mind as soon as he saw his mother (and the present she had for him, too, but his mom was more important; Sharpay went straight for the bags his mom had set on the floor).

It meant so much to him that his mom had thought about him while she was with the "disgusting French", as the nanny had put it, that he wanted to make her smile that morning when she saw him wearing it to school.

"Ryan! That doesn't match the outfit I picked out for you!" Sharpay had screeched when she came out of the bathroom, fully dressed. She was always the first to get the bathroom, and always took the longest. Ryan didn't mind; it meant he got to lay in bed for a great deal longer than he probably should.

"But I want to wear it!" he insisted, crossing his arms in defiance.

"You can't!" she screamed, moving to rip it off of his head. He lashed out, wrestling with her as best as his tiny, lithe frame could. After almost a whole minute of fighting, Sharpay gave up, breaking away, panting.

"Fine! But you'll have to wear an entirely different outfit!" she threatened. Ryan shrugged.

"Fine with me," he said truthfully, stalking off to the bathroom with the beret gripped tightly in his hands. He slammed the door to try and make her feel bad about trying to take his precious beret, but he knew it was mostly a fruitless cause. Still, it was worth a shot. He always tried things, even if the odds were stacked against him.

When he came out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist, he found Sharpay gone but the new outfit lying on his bed. He hadn't known it at the time, but upon looking back, he realized that it was probably the most color-coordinated choice in his wardrobe for the navy beret.

His smile dimmed as he remembered that, for now, that life, beret included, were unattainable.

Gorion had informed them a scant week ago that, for reasons he couldn't understand, they had been transported to this Plane from their own. (Ryan thought of a Plane as a new world, like Middle-earth in the Tolkien books he had always wanted to read, but had never found the time. He enjoyed the movies, though, which he had watched at one of the Marathon Movie Mondays the Wildcats had put together during the summer, after the events at Lava Springs. He really liked the hobbits and how sneaky they could be, hiding right underneath the Nazgul's nose (if they even had noses) and it not even noticing!)

From what Gorion had figured out, both his ward Aveidailya and Winthrop's charge, Imoen, were safe and alive, but in some sort of limbo. Ryan thought that hadn't been too bad of a thing at the time, and when he expressed his vocation that he would kind of enjoy playing the game nonstop, or at least at first, he managed to get Gorion to bark a short laugh. Of course, he returned to his usual gravity a few moments later and explained to Ryan what limbo really meant.

He shivered into the summer air at the thought of being trapped in a land devoid of...well, everything.

Eager to change his mental subject, Ryan lended his woolgathering thoughts to the aged sage as he walked the Keep's grounds. Gorion, although he had been plenty scary at first, turned out to be a rather nice old man, and quite smart. When he found out that both he and Sharpay were still in school, he insisted that they take some lessons here at Candlekeep, what with it being a place of learning and all. Ryan had readily agreed, eager to learn new things; Sharpay took a little convincing, but finally acquiesced.

Sharpay hadn't really been acting like her snotty self lately, Ryan surmised, and he figured it was mostly because she wasn't very comfortable here yet. Even after a week, Sharpay hadn't bossed around any of the monks, Watchers, or even the servants. She had seemed to figure out the fact that "her daddy's money" was a phrase that didn't apply here, seeing as their father was absent from the scene. Without the glamour to hide behind, Sharpay's nature had become less severe and more accepting, and Ryan found himself enjoying Sharpay's company again, something he hadn't been able to do easily for the past two years. The Ice Queen, he thought to himself, remembering Chad and Jason's teasing nickname for the girl, was thawing, and Ryan was very happy about that.

He just wished Chad and Jason were here to see it.

Ryan shook his head to himself, trying to absolve the thoughts of home, and of his friends, from his head. The Priest of Oghma (In this Plane, Ryan found, the people worshipped gods of different things, kind of like the Greek gods of Mount Olympus. Oghma was the god of knowledge, which he found fitting for a monastery (as that was what the place seemed like to Ryan, sometimes) such as this.) affixed him with a concerned look, but Ryan merely waved jauntily. He and the Priest had already had some interesting conversations, Ryan pitting his Zen-like beliefs against the man's (Derren, he had found out, was the Priest's name). It had been an interesting exercise, one in which Ryan had discovered much about this world and its religious beliefs. Still, although he somewhat enjoyed the discussion, he found that it really wasn't something he wanted to pursue. It took too much time to reason out each word he wanted to say, to make sure he wasn't misstepping with his words and negating his own argument. He would leave that to others, like Derren.

Even though he tried to cast the others from his mind, routinely, they just kept filtering back in, like bugs through the always-open Chemistry lab window. He missed them all, each for their own merits, but at times like these, with nothing to do and plenty of energy, he found himself missing Martha and Chad the most. Martha was always up for dancing, even if was to her hideous hip-hop music (he acknowledged that it had a really nice beat and was great for dancing, but the lyrics were embarrassing); Chad always insisted on dragging him outside to play some game or another, even going so far as to show him how to play basketball. Under their tutelage, Ryan had learned how to become a basketball player that knew how to grind on the dance floor. He wasn't sure when that would come in handy, but everything he learned would, he supposed, so he kept it in the back of his mind and reflected on it when the time was ripe, like now.

The smile returned to his face as he finally found a place to rest underneath a mighty pear tree in the Central Grounds. It was relatively close to the tranquil ponds near the Central Keep's imposing doors, and had quickly become one of his favorite places to sit and think, which he had been doing quite a lot of lately.

His eyes drooped---he was more tired than he thought---as he lay there, smiling out at the tranquil world before him. He didn't have a lot here, but he was learning some fun stuff from the Keep sages, and, most of all, he felt like he was regaining a side of his sister that he hadn't seen in years.

It was a good thing he didn't value his way with words, because he took back his last few; he had a lot here, now that Sharpay was slowly becoming more of a friend and less of an overbearing sister.

This place sure was magical, he thought to himself as he surrendered to the urge to take a nap.

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Troy had intended on exploring the surrounding landscape this week to try and find some sign of his friends, or even a stranger, since he and Gabriella had not seen a single human being other than each other since their awakening here precisely one week ago. It had been an idea he had meant to carry out with all urgency, even if the time he had been enjoying alone with Gabriella had been wonderful so far.

Then, the incident happened.

He took to calling it an 'incident' because he wasn't entirely sure what else to call it, not really having much explanation for it. He had been slicing up an apple when suddenly he felt this terrible pain in the back of his leg. It caught him by surprise and so he screamed, dropping the knife. He landed on the floor of the tiny kitchen, and the landing seemed to remind him that his girlfriend was just nearby and didn't need to see her boyfriend acting like a little pansy because of some sort of weird charliehorse or something, so he clamped up straightaway.

When Gabriella arrived on the scene, she was crying. He had absolutely no idea why she would be crying because of some silly cramp, but he didn't have much time to spare on that thought---first, the cramp hurt too badly, and second, she was insisting on him removing his pants.

Any other red-blooded American boy, Troy knew, would be jumping at the chance to rip off their pants in front of their girl, but Troy knew that this was a different situation than that. First, Gabriella was crying. Second, he was in a lot of pain. Third, he didn't want to do anything...like that...without the proper protection, of which he could locate none (he had looked upon their odd arrival that first day).

The fear in her voice had been so palpable that he felt compelled to do as she asked. She informed him that the wound wasn't too bad. He remembered being surprised at the idea that there was a wound, but didn't say anything, letting Gabriella employ her First Aid knowledge.

After things had died down and she decided that he could put his pants back on and get up, he immediately tried to finish preparing their lunch. He could put weight on the leg, albeit gingerly, and it still made him wince in pain, but it wasn't too terrible; he could deal with it.

As they crunched on the apples, he casually asked her if she saw what had made the welt. Troy had figured it was some sort of malfunction with some device in the house (although what that could be, he wasn't sure now, but he didn't lend much thought to it at the time), but the way Gabriella found herself suddenly unable to meet his eyes spoke volumes about something else.

Ever since the incident, Gabriella hadn't found much time to spend with him. Taking on his idea of exploring the area, she set off in the mornings after breakfast, the light backpack Troy had found in one of the closets filled with provisions, a homemade map, and a few other little tidbits that Gabriella had insisted on having with her.

She never returned until the sun was nearly setting, thoroughly exhausted but always looking so refreshed, until her eyes returned to lay upon him. Then, something would come over her, the word for it lost on Troy, and she would slump her shoulders as if the weight of a thousand bricks had just been applied to them. Troy had been mystified for the past six days, not understanding what was wrong with her. She refused to tell him why, always saying that she was just tired and needed to rest, which he knew to be both a truth and a lie. Still, having no evidence for this gut feeling that she was somewhat disgusted by something he had been doing, done, or wasn't doing, he let the matter drop.

It remained, niggling, in the back of his mind, and as Gabriella practically sprinted out the door this morning, he decided to try and piece together what he might have done wrong. Limping slightly as he paced around the dining room, Troy racked his brains, but found nothing out of the ordinary. Unless it was the loneliness about missing their friends, a subject about which Troy had been trying valiantly to avoid, he could find absolutely nothing to account for her actions.

Then, his eye alighted upon the book sitting in the basket of random items---tacks, string, spare bits of paper, some feathers that Gabriella had insisted were quills. Hadn't Gabriella been so fascinated by that book before the incident? And hadn't she said something about a weird language she'd been reading about just before it happened?

Curious, Troy grabbed the book and sat down at the table, reading it. His eyes widened as he realized what it was: a self-proclaimed spellbook! The very first page had some messy handwriting that looked like a child's, claiming in bright orange letters that it was "Dynaheir's Spellbook" and underneath, in block letters, "VALYSSA, TOUCH THIS AND YOU DIE!" He thought it was kind of cute, at first, but as he read on, he realized that this Dynaheir may very well have meant her childhood threat as she aged. At first, the cantrips that were written (an elder Dynaheir had annotated on the side about them and their classifications) in the beginning in the sloppy orange lettering were simple, harmless, and actually somewhat useful, Troy thought.

Then, as it progressed, Troy made out more dangerous sounding spells from amongst the odd lettering he couldn't quite decipher: Ghoul Touch, Spook, Chromatic Orb. The notes that Dynaheir had made along the sides about their usage and application in battle situations---this girl was some sort of martial artist, maybe?---scared him with their cold efficiency, but none more than that of the spell entitled 'Magic Missile.'

_"Ridiculously low casting time. Alacrity is of no concern. To be used in situations where speed is necessary."_

_"Creates a pink ball of pure magic that speeds toward target. Seems to be sentient; sped over heads of three summoned skeletons today as I directed it toward Sister Gerryne."_

_"Increases in frequency but not damage potential as the caster grows more experienced with the arcane, e.g. more power, more missiles."_

_"Addendum to previous note: young charges seem to have lesser skill with the spell. Sister Faemyn was just initiated last week and can produce no more than a painful, but non-life-threatening welt. Needs tutelage."_

Troy smiled grimly as he shut the book. So that's what had happened---Gabriella had been fooling around with these spells and thought it had been a good idea to try one out on him?

No, no, that wasn't right. Gabriella wouldn't be so foolish as to use something she knew nothing about, with no knowledge of its potential risks and benefits. She wouldn't do anything to purposefully hurt him, either. It must have been some sort of accident, he figured.

Still, he couldn't quite believe that this...magic...existed, but there was the evidence, right there, burned (albeit faded, now) into his very own leg. It appeared to Troy, now more than ever, that they had to be in some sort of fantasy world where the weirdest things could happen.

The door opened, and in walked Gabriella, transforming as soon as her eyes met Troy's. He held up the book.

"It wasn't your fault, Gab," he said simply.

She fumbled with the buttons on her traveling jacket for a minute, then returned to her work, taking the jacket off and hanging it on the peg. Troy sighed in frustration and pushed the chair out from the table, using the momentum to ease his way onto his feet, trying to hold in the grimace of pain so as to make Gabriella's guilt disappear.

"You didn't know what you were doing. It was an accident," he soothed, coming closer, intending to wrap her up in a fierce hug. She dodged, moving away, tossing the pack down on the table with ferocity. He turned, hobbling as little as he possibly could, trying to impress the truth onto her.

"Gabriella! Talk to me! Why won't you look at me?" Troy demanded, latching gently onto her right arm. She stopped, but refused to turn to look at him.

"I said I was sorry," she whispered, pain seeping into her voice. Troy stepped closer, daring to gently rub her arm.

"I know," he soothed, reaching another hand around to hug her tightly from behind. He wasn't a second into the hug before she whirled around, clutching at him tightly, bursting into tears.

"I didn't mean it, Troy, I didn't. I'm never going to read that book again," she insisted, sobbing.

Troy held her tightly, trying to decide whether or not to voice his opinion on that now, or later.

The smell of violets in Gabriella's hair convinced him that all he wanted to do right now was hold his girl and make the pain go away.

He could do that much.

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**Author's Note: As I repeatedly urge you to, please review. You can say "Squirrels rule!" if you want to, just please say something!**


	9. Fronts

**Author's Note: Welcome back. Kelsi, Martha, and Zeke fans, your time is coming. The next chapter will return to their storylines. Please enjoy this one as it continues to tie up some loose ends.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own High School Musical. I don't own Baldur's Gate. I don't own a moped, either, although I did want one when I was little.

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**

Too late, Jason realized that getting hit with lightning would hurt, and that he should probably get out of the way. Luckily for him, he didn't have to worry about that, because today was not the day that deep-fried Jason would appear on any local menus.

What did hurt, though, was the back-on collision he had with the street. He landed hard, and his savior, a mass of brown and gold, weighed more than he thought, taking Jason's breath away sharply.

Garrick rose to his feet within seconds, withdrawing his sword from his scabbard and advancing on his former employer. It only seemed to anger her further.

"So, my witless bard, you've allied yourself with the fool! Then you shall meet your end together!" she screeched. Her staff whirled as Garrick's first strike connected with it, the resounding crack ominously filling the summer air. Words were again on her lips, strange and foreign to Jason, but they seemed to be familiar to Garrick, because his eyes widened as he struck faster.

It didn't help. Each strike was met with the blur of the staff, and after a deep green flash, there were suddenly four Silkes moving as one, each clustered around one another. Jason could scarcely believe his eyes.

It seemed that Garrick couldn't, either, but he kept striking haplessly with his sword, hoping to catch the woman off-guard. The four shapes moved as one, blocking his strikes almost effortlessly. More words came to the women's lips, and just a few moments later, three pink spheres flew out from them and into Garrick. He staggered backwards, crying out in pain; Jason saw blood dripping from his midsection onto the street.

Something about Garrick's scream of pain seemed to snap Jason out of his funk. Recharged, he found himself on his feet all of a sudden, his bow in his hands and an arrow notched. His mind returned to him, and for a second he hesitated.

Then the woman started chanting again, and he knew that nothing good came of that, so he released the arrow and watched it fly. It landed in one of the Silkes' necks, and just like that, she vanished without a cry. Realizing the trick, Jason hurriedly notched another arrow as Garrick clumsily moved forward with his sword, desperately trying to keep Silke busy.

The arrow flew true again, and another illusion vanished. Garrick, somehow finding the strength and smarts to swing his sword high and use the momentum to go low, brought Silke to the ground, ending her chanting abruptly and dispelling the last illusion. Jason held his arrow back as Garrick stabbed down at her with the sword, relentless in his assault, but Silke was just as relentless, rolling away and onto her feet.

She lashed out with two quick blows, and the feint caught Garrick; her staff smacked into his bleeding midsection and he fell, sword clattering to the street. Silke raised her staff high, ready to crush his windpipe with one precise blow.

Jason didn't let her have the chance.

The arrow flew soundlessly, unerringly, towards his target. Staff poised above her head, Silke never noticed the arrow until the surprised gurgle issued from her bloody throat. It pierced her jugular. She never had a chance.

Down she went, slowly, like a falling tree in the forest, crumpling onto her side, the staff rolling out of her hands.

The battle over, the three men---the supposed "thugs"---suddenly rushed to help, and as they returned to Jason's vision, so did the sounds of the world. Without warning, the clanging armor of three guards running towards him assaulted his senses. A young girl was crying in the doorway of a cottage. The "thugs" were yelling for medical assistance.

And Garrick, who couldn't be any older than Jason himself, was screaming, his lifeforce oozing out of him and onto the ground.

Although Jason heard the voice assuring him that everything was going to be all right, he didn't listen to it. He saw the "thugs" attending to Garrick, eventually lifting him onto a massive shield borrowed from the smithy, but he didn't perceive it. The bow was lifted from his hands and he was led behind Garrick's carriers, but he felt none of their guiding gestures. He didn't notice the absence of the weapon, the pebbles in the street crunching underneath him, the whispers of the townspeople at the peculiar sight, the opening of the door to Feldepost's Inn, the scattering of the patrons, or the trip up the stairs to the room where they finally laid Garrick, gently depositing him into the bed. Jason watched, a mere observer, as the clerics that were led in worked on his savior.

"What about this one?" a man in blue robes asked, having exhausted his resources and poultices.

"He's fine, just a bit frazzled. Do you have...?" one of the three "thugs" trailed off.

"I can try," the man replied, and bent down to meet Jason's gaze. He started to chant, and although Jason didn't recognize it, his mind sparked to life, the image of Silke flooding his brain, the sight of lightning striking before his eyes.

He lashed out, but arms were ready, holding him still as he kicked and struggled with all of his might. Then, the chanting stopped, and so did he.

The image of Silke and the blood dripping from her throat still pervaded his mind, but he could control it, now, could push it away with effort and finally loose his tongue to speak.

"How is he?" Jason croaked, staring into the blue-robed man's eyes, searching for clues. The man smiled benevolently, obviously pleased that his remedy had done the trick.

"Your friend is going to be just fine. My associates are just bandaging his wounds now. He'll have to stay off his feet for at least a day or so in order to let his body heal, but he should be up and at 'em after that," the man promised.

Jason nodded, satisfied. The man turned to inspect his charges' work, then left, shaking the hands of each of the "thugs" as he did so, and giving Jason a reassuring squeeze of the shoulder.

"We're terribly sorry about this," the chubbiest "thug" began, biting his lip as he addressed Jason.

"You couldn't have known," he found himself replying quickly. He meant the words, but his voice was as hollow as the belly of a guitar.

"Still, we'd like to make it up to you," the tallest insisted, pulling out a small bag and setting it on the table in front of where Jason was sitting. "There are a few oils in there that we were going to offer to Miss Rowena as recompense for any ill will Master Feldepost may have shown to her," he explained.

"We also brought these," said the third quietly, the bearded one. He moved from his spot behind Jason to set Jason's bow, Garrick's sword, a small bag, a necklace, and a familiar silver staff alongside the bag of oils.

"That's all we could find on the scene. Is there anything you know of that's missing?" asked Bearded Man. Jason shook his head, never once tearing his eyes from the silver staff, the weapon that had almost taken an innocent life.

"Come, friends, let us leave them to rest," Chubby brusquely demanded, ushering the other two towards the door.

"The room is yours whenever you require it, free of charge, for our folly," whispered Tall before following his friends out.

The door shut quietly. Jason rose, fiddled with the latch until he was satisfied that it was locked, and flumped back down into the wooden chair. Garrick's light snores met his ears as he sat, staring at the staff until he fell into a fitful repose of his own.

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"The book's not evil, you know," Troy insisted.

Gabriella gave him a glare that could have withered a thousand apple trees.

"I know that, Troy," she replied condescendingly, turning back around to chop the vegetables with a renewed ferocity.

"You haven't touched it for a whole week, Gab," Troy started.

"I'm aware of that!" she snapped.

"It wasn't your fault, Gabriella. You made a mistake. We all do," Troy placated.

"Which is exactly what you're about to do if you let this conversation go on any longer," she sniped back, scraping a carrot with almost lethal force.

"All I'm asking is for you to read it, Gab! The spells only work if you read them out loud," Troy reminded her. The knife in her hand halted for a minute before it proceeded to chop the carrot.

"No, Troy," she insisted.

"Would you just think about it?" Troy pleaded.

"Fine, Troy. I'll think about it," she agreed, putting the carrots in the bowl with the rest of the salad.

"Thank you," Troy said, slumping back in his chair with a sigh as Gabriella dished salad out into bowls for both of them.

Dinner passed slowly, the scraping of forks in the earthenware and the occasional crunch of a vegetable the only sounds to fill the air. Troy ate slowly, struggling to find a good argument to convince Gabriella further. It wasn't as if he was entirely comfortable learning about things that could potentially kill people, but...

The way he saw it was like this: he was hurt, and Gabriella was going to be out there, in the wilderness, on her own. Say a wolf or a bobcat or something attacked her. She wasn't going to be able to outrun them, and she didn't know how to use the sword they had found here. This was probably the only way she was going to be able to defend herself in this place. It was like self-defense classes, except in book form.

The problem was, Troy didn't know how to get that across to her without coming off sounding full of himself. The last time he'd been a little pompous cost him nearly all of his friends, back at Lava Springs, and he swore he wasn't going to be that way again, no way, no how. So how could he could tell Gabriella that he cared about her safety without sounding like some dominating idiot who didn't think his girlfriend could take care of herself (which is what he did believe, but he didn't want her to know that)?

Plus, he could tell she still felt guilty about the whole Magic Missile thing. No words he could say would be able to smooth that one over; he had done his part and forgiven her (although there was really nothing to forgive her for, the way he saw it). Now it was time to wait for her to forgive herself.

He cleared the dinner bowls away for them tonight, despite her protestations. It was good for him to walk on the leg---the pain was becoming more of a nuisance and less of a hindrance, which he decided was probably a good thing. In a couple days, it would probably be gone completely.

Going fast as well was their food supply. A week had depleted what little was in the little house quickly, and they probably had enough left for maybe three or four more days, more if they managed to stretch it.

Troy knew they would have to leave this place soon and venture out into the wilderness. It was a beautiful place, but with no ability to procure more food, other than maybe berries, which they couldn't possibly expect to live on, they couldn't stay. They would have to find some sort of town---or, heck, even a road---and make their way back home from there.

Although this was the unspoken plan between them, Troy still felt this niggling sensation in the back of his mind that it was going to be a while before they would get home. There was no technology in the house whatsoever, not even a heating system of any sort, or even plumbing (Troy didn't mind using the outhouse, but he was confident that Gabriella detested it). That meant no phones (his cellphone was conspicuously absent, along with his wallet, mechanical pencil, and watch that he had on him at the time, although Gabriella was still wearing his necklace), and no way of contacting home.

He shook these thoughts aside and joined Gabriella in the living room. They would set out tomorrow to find a town, or some form of civilization, and then they would take things as they went from there. No sense in getting worked up over what could be nothing.

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**Author's Note: Like what you've read? Fabulous. Then please review.**


	10. Inspiration

**Author's Note: It's been a bit, but welcome back. These three refused to talk to me after I gave them the brush-off for the past few chapters, but they finally relented. Please enjoy, and please review.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own High School Musical. I don't own Baldur's Gate. I don't even own a tin of mints.

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"Again," commanded Condra.

Kelsi wearily pulled herself to her feet.

For the past week, Condra had taken Kelsi under her wing, so to speak. Kelsi had become her young charge and instantly slung into training in all sorts of areas. It was like school, only she was suddenly the new girl, suddenly Gabriella, and she hated it. Again, she found herself wondering how Gabriella had ever managed to do it all those times, and the pangs of loneliness ate at her like a hungry beetle.

The beetle, in fact, had been a creature she had taken a particular aversion to. Getting acquainted with it for the past few days had been an arduous process she was loathe to repeat. And it wasn't just the small beetles---Condra managed to conjure up some huge suckers, up to five or ten times their natural size. It had spooked Kelsi, at first, and even further when she was told that she would have to be fighting these beetles with everything she had been learning, so she had best utilize this rare chance she had to study her enemy.

That had been the most ridiculous part of it all, and she had nearly laughed out loud at the idea. How in the world were her composing or the ridiculous devotionals she had been made to learn going to help her out?

Condra had discovered her compositions that she had been writing ever since her arrival and immediately schooled her in the playing of a new instrument, the harp. It was slow going at first, but once she got her hand for it, it fell into place remarkably quickly. She wasn't about to be playing Carnegie Hall any time soon, she knew, but she was able to make of her simpler melodies sound pretty on it, and, in the end, she knew that was all that mattered. Still, music wasn't about to help her fight away a beetle. She couldn't sing it to death.

Likewise, she had no idea what the verses and rituals she had been set to memorize were going to do, either. She had asked Condra, but she remained unusually tight-lipped on the matter.

"It is something unique to each of us," she had replied mysteriously, and asked her to recite the Third Tenet again.

At least the memorization drills were easier than this. Of all of the things Condra had been forcing her to learn, this was the second-worst of them all: trying to fly.

For the Avariel, this was a natural occurence that came into being much like walking, and, Kelsi learned, not much after walking, either. To Kelsi, it was comparable to thumbscrews or being clamped in an iron maiden. Bodies were just not meant to move like this, no matter what the race.

She had asked Condra what exactly the Avariel were: if they were some sort of human, or a mutation, or something else entirely? Condra had laughed that tinkling laugh of hers that sounded like a hundred wind chimes in a hurricane.

"We are not humans, child. The Avariel are closest to the Elves in build," she had replied, toeing the line between condescension and pitying instruction. Kelsi had gawked.

So she was some sort of Elf, now? Practically overnight?

"Not exactly, child," Condra had soothed, "Except for our wings, I see nothing else remotely Avariel within your features. Your body, I assume you have noticed, has altered its composition for the wings, but otherwise...you look just like any other groundwalker I have studied," she finished.

Kelsi had been rankled by the word 'studied' at the time, but said little else. At least she was still human---something here was making a modicum of sense.

It was all so senseless, anyway. Condra had been running her through magical cantrips and spells. Kelsi had been skeptical, expecting to be learning some sort of freakish Tarot card reading or something, until Condra summoned the aforementioned beetle.

And, on top of the memorization, the magic, the flying lessons, and the harp, Kelsi had to learn one other thing: how to act like an Avariel.

That was the worst of them all.

Acting was, she had insisted time and time again, not her thing. She was the composer, not the actor. She left the drama to Sharpay, the comic relief to Ryan, the romance to Troy and Gabriella. The stage was closed to her, or so she thought. Now she was expected to sing and dance in a whole new way, to act like she had been something all her life when, in fact, she really wasn't.

So, she found herself with a whole new respect for her friends. Time after time, she crashed to the floor of the large room in which she and Condra were working, unable to stay awing for more than a few desperate seconds. Each time she remembered the strength of Ryan, able to dance for six or seven straight run-throughs before he needed to take a break. She remembered Sharpay's scarred feet from her high heels and her nonchalant dismissal of the pain they caused her during long rehearsals. She remembered Jason's ability to run up the court, trying to get open, and then, seconds later, run back down the court, focused on making sure nobody got open but a Wildcat.

These memories should have inspired her, given her strength, given her hope. Instead, all they did were remind her of what she had lost, or, more accurately, been unable to find. Condra had attempted to Divine their locations for her, but had regrettably informed her, with each one of them, that they were all too far out of her mental reach to see clearly. Kelsi did know now, however, that they were all alive and unhurt; Condra had been able to tell her that much. She also said that Ryan and Sharpay had not been separated, nor Chad and Taylor. Gabriella and Troy were in close contact as well, but further away from each other at the time of the Divination than the other two couples had been. Jason, Zeke, and Martha were all scattered about on their own, like Kelsi.

She had scoffed at the time, internally, that it was almost typical that things had happened to turn out like that. Ryan and Sharpay always had each other for comfort. Troy and Gabriella, despite their occasional flare-up and misunderstandings, always got back together. Chad and Taylor, filled with mutual passion, probably couldn't be separated for anything. Naturally, it was Jason and her that ended up split apart. Maybe it was some sort of sign that they weren't as close as they could have been, or should be. She didn't know. She just knew it wasn't fair.

Of course, nothing about life was fair, and it could be worse: Zeke and Martha had nobody. She knew Zeke wanted Sharpay as bad as a dog craves a bone, but Martha? Martha had always remained unusually tight-lipped on the subject of her crush (once, of course, Taylor and she got Martha to admit that she did have one). Gabriella usually came to the rescue, switching the subject to academics, which was more comfortable for the bright girl, but it all still bemused Kelsi. Her first thought was that it had to be Ryan, and then she thought it was one of the skater boys, and then she knew it just had to be Vince, the replacement boy for the Wildcats at Lava Springs, and then...she had to admit to herself that she really had no idea. Martha's lovelife, or lack thereof, remained a mystery---and probably would, until Martha saw fit to twist open the blinds.

'Twist open the blinds'?

That was almost poetic in a way...yeah, she could definitely work with that image.

The words flew disjointedly into her head, followed by a weak melody, and as she pieced the song together mentally, she closed her eyes.

When she reopened them, the song was complete and she was staring right into the beaming visage of Condra.

"Congratulations," she said simply. Kelsi, confused, looked around her and found that she was floating in mid-air, her wings flapping lightly to keep her there.

She promptly fell to the floor in surprise.

"That's all for the flying for today," Condra informed her, landing gently. "Let us retire to the music room."

As they walked, Kelsi couldn't help but notice the _Peter Pan_ reference; she had found her happy thought, and all it had taken was a week of energy-draining, life-sucking exercises.

If there were fairies here with magic dust, Condra was going to get deep-fried.

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"Perfect consistency, Zeke," Heevo praised, nodding curtly at the boy. Zeke seemed to glow at the compliment, setting the roughshod pan he had been cleaning aside with a beaming grin.

There had been precious little to beam about these days, so Heevo decided not to inform him that he thought the lavender was a little too much for a simple blueberry muffin. An interesting combination, and one that he could make work, Heevo was sure, but not something to be experimenting with now. Now was all about business.

Business had gotten to be a complicated word. Master Corthala had not reappeared, or sent any notice regarding his whereabouts. This was not unusual, as Master Corthala was given to sometimes wishing for seclusion in the wilderness, and so he would retire to the former lands of his family, now reduced to a simple cabin on the cliffs surrounding the town of Imnesvale. Of late, Heevo had been hearing rumors of strange occurences there, and he hoped Master Corthala had not managed to entangle himself into trouble there. That simply would not do.

There was also the business of running the tiny cottage without Master Corthala, something Heevo found tiresome but somewhat soothing all at once. Countless times Master Corthala stepped off the property to go somewhere else, scarcely giving Heevo any notice, if any at all, and so he would have to take up the reins, so to speak.

It hadn't always been like this. Master Corthala had once been a happy child before the curse, somehow or another, claimed each of his parents' lives. Heevo was glad to see that Master Corthala was determined to eradicate the evil allure of magic in this world, the allure that had claimed the Corthala line for years. Heevo had only been present for a scant few years of that grimoire of shameful pain, but they had been enough for him to learn that the arcane, no matter how well-intentioned the user, could corrupt anyone, and would.

He looked out at the city of Athkatla, ruled by coin and magical might, and wondered how anybody, even the Most Noble Order of the Righteous Heart, could stand up to it successfully. If it wasn't magic corrupting and polluting the peoples' minds, it was the base lure of greed, worming its way through merchants, cutpurses, and simple guards alike. This was government, he supposed, ever-changing and ever-fluctuating, like the tides of the Sword Coast to the north. Much like those tides, a sudden storm could wreak havoc in one spot and choose to let another alone. The government was not to be understood, just manipulated by those wise enough to seek opportunity for their own goals.

Indeed, Heevo had experience with manipulation in the name of business, and rarely failed in its application. One of his most glaring errors had come but a week ago, with Zeke. He had tried to frighten the boy into revealing more information, but it soon became glaringly obvious that Zeke was nothing more than a fear-filled boy.

Heevo had refused to see that. It was more likely that he was a simple grunt in some large organization (the Summer, he remembered) that was sworn to hunt down Master Corthala, and so Zeke had to be pushed to his absolute limits.

So, naturally, Heevo tied him to the kitchen table, threatening him with bodily harm if he attempted to escape in the process, and retrieved a hot coal from the fire.

"Perhaps now you'd like to tell me what you're really doing here, and what your masters are planning," Heevo suggested. The boy's eyes went wide, nearly escaping from their sockets.

"I have no idea what you're talking about!" he screeched.

"Very well then," Heevo simply replied, and wrenched the boy's shirt out of the way. Smiling ferally, he slowly set the hot coal upon his stomach, balancing carefully as the boy bucked about in pain, refusing to scream. He was a strong one, Heevo thought, but he knew that wouldn't last long. They always screamed.

But never like this.

Usually they screamed for mercy, or screamed the information he or Master Corthala had been demanding. Sometimes they even screamed for their family, or to their god. Nobody ever screamed because of the pain.

Zeke did.

The shriek of the innocent boy snapped Heevo out of his flawed line of thinking immediately, and he quickly removed the coal, stomping over to return it to the fire. While he was near it, he reached for the blue potion on the shelf and returned to the boy, who was now hissing and writhing in pain.

Pain he'd caused. To an innocent.

Slowly, gently, he poured some of the clear liquid out of the blue vial and onto a washcloth. The washcloth descended just as methodically as the coal to the boy's stomach, and this time the boy flinched and screamed immediately. Cleaning a wound always hurt more than causing it.

He continued to hiss his pain long after the potioned rag cleansed and patched the wound. It was as if nothing had ever happened, but Heevo knew better. As he moved to undo the restraints, Heevo's mind reminded him of the invading gnolls. Their long blades sliced into his mind as the memory unraveled: his sister, so quiet and small, relentlessly cut down; his father, desperately fighting three at once, his sword battling with the halberds but failing to catch the one that caught in his throat; his mother, hiding him in the tiny closet as she raced out of the house, leading the gnolls away from the home until she tripped and was trampled. Tiny Heevo watched it all, his six-year-old mind taking in the stench, the eventually-successful defenses of the villagers, the screams of the innocent crying out in pain.

"Why?" Zeke had asked simply once he found himself unbound.

"I believe you," Heevo replied, just as simply.

From there, Heevo promised to keep Zeke in the cottage until Master Corthala's return, at which time Master Corthala would decide what was best. Zeke readily agreed, having no money and nowhere else to go in a land that Heevo learned was all very strange-sounding to him.

Thus the business carried on, with Heevo imparting onto a listless Zeke his culinary knowledge, which Zeke absorbed with astonishing rapaciousness. He also instructed Zeke on the proper use of the spear, impressing upon him the need for distance in a fight. Zeke had been confused, at first, until Heevo taught him his first history lesson about this land. Then he began to show promise with the weapon, occasionally outclassing the "master", so to speak, in just a few short sessions.

In a way, Zeke was indeed becoming his apprentice of sorts; which, to someone as class conscious as Heevo, was a lark. Zeke was apprenticing as a houseservant? The very thought was ridiculous. Yet, upon watching Zeke put away the cooking utensils of the morning, he realized that was precisely what it was.

"You'll be coming with me today, Zeke. Say nothing, wear your jerkin, and try not to gape. Make sure you know where your knife is at all times," Heevo instructed. Zeke spun neatly, obviously excited.

"Where are we going?" he asked, wiping his hands swiftly on a spare cloth so as to not mishandle his knife, which he carefully placed in the pocket of his leather armor.

"To buy food, and perhaps other things," Heevo said off-handedly.

"Do they have monkfish here? I know this killer recipe for it that I've been dying to try," Zeke gushed, instantly alight with childlike excitement.

Heevo laughed at the young man's ability to be so lighthearted. Perhaps Zeke was the kind of person who could resist the wiles of greed and magic. Perhaps laughter, and hope, were the keys to the lock.

"We shall see, my boy. We shall see," Heevo replied, setting his hand on Zeke's shoulder and squeezing it with an almost fatherlike affection. It wouldn't be enough to replace what Zeke had lost, he knew, but he had to try.

To do otherwise would be to let an innocent boy scream in pain---on the inside.

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It had been a stupid idea, Martha knew, and Patrick had said so just as soon as she voiced it, his piercing stare boring into her. Even the laid-back Delemyn and saucy Vess had their misgivings. Only Vance, the man with the deep eyes, had leapt to her defense.

"She wants to help. It's not like she needs to charge into battle with us, sword flying! She can stay away from the battlefront," he had claimed.

"She's a liability," Patrick pointed out.

"He's right," Delemyn, his brogue thick but his charm gone in the blink of an eye, agreed. "Yeh can't always control where the beasties come from."

"Vess can protect her with her spells," Vance argued.

"I'm not wasting my spells on her!" screeched Vess. Then, upon realizing what she had said, added, "Sorry, dear, but I've got priorities, and that's protecting these idiots. I can't worry about you, too."

"Precisely," Patrick agreed.

"But we can't just leave her here!" Vance insisted.

"Yeh think we want teh?" Delemyn asked, eyes flashing.

"We have no other choice," Patrick said, putting a restraining hand on Delemyn's shoulder before he rose to his feet. "She cannot come with us into hostile territory. The girl has no martial or magical skills whatsoever."

"Then she shall learn," the ever-quiet Delilah spoke at last, her soothing timbre filling the room. "We need time to prepare provisions, weaponry, support, reagents, and information. In that time, she should be able to defend herself adequately enough to be of assistance to us," she explained, sparing a small, quiet smile for Martha.

"Very well, then. Vance will teach you how to fight. Vess, test her magical aptitude, and if she has any, teach her all you know. I'm going to work on the maps," Patrick said shortly, exiting the room with such a harsh gait for one of such small stature.

Delemyn frowned slightly, but then shrugged, grinning at Martha to let her know of his accepting of the decision. Vess came to her, taking both of Martha's hands in hers and leading her to sit on the floor.

"He's not always like that," Vess revealed, still holding Martha's hands tightly as she closed her eyes, "This thing with Mazzy's really tore him up. I guess he really loves her. Don't move," she added as she began to chant under her breath. Martha was confused, but followed the command.

Vess stopped after a few moments, then opened her eyes.

"It's there, but it'd take a lot to get it out. I'm afraid you're all Vance's, honey," she apologized, helping Martha to her feet and over to Vance, who gave her a kind smile and started going over the tricks of the warrior's trade with her.

And so, a full week later, Martha found herself desperately---and clumsily---swinging her shield to ward off the blow of Vance's mace, then spinning to try and disable him with her own. He was too fast for her, anticipating the move and striking out with his own shield, catching her in the chin and sending her to the ground.

"And you're dead. Good spar, Martha, but you've got to work on using that shield. You can't just always strike out," Vance advised, helping the girl to her feet.

"I know, I know," Martha said tiredly.

"If you know so much, then why is it that you're not applying it? If you knew, I'd be on my back. There's something stopping you, Martha. What is it?" Vance asked, setting the shield and mace down on the table and inviting her to sit on the sofa.

"I...I just miss my family, that's all," Martha admitted, taking the seat but not the gravity of the situation.

"Hey," Vance said quietly, reaching forward and taking the younger girl's hand, "We all miss our families. I miss my brothers in Athkatla dearly. But we chose this life; you had it forced upon you. It's okay to be feeling like this, but you can't let it get in the way. There is a time for surviving, and a time for remembering family. They are not one and the same. Talk to Delilah," Vance advised after a moment of silence, nodding and smiling encouragingly, "She'll know what to say better than I."

"You've done plenty, Vance. Thank you," Martha assured him sincerely, squeezing his hand. He smiled a little wider, then withdrew his hand as he got to his feet.

"What'd'ya say we bring Delemyn in and have him teach you some work with the blades? I daresay you'll enjoy that," Vance promised, going for the door to call Delemyn.

Martha got to her feet as well. There was indeed a time for living, and a time for living in the past, and now was certainly the former. If she was ever going to expect these people to help her find her friends, and later, a way home, she had to prove that she was of some use to them.

Inspired by the thought of her friends, she threw herself into learning how to attack and defend with only a short sword in one hand, and by the end of the session, managed to disable Delemyn.

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**Author's Note: Please review!**


	11. Departures

**Author's Note: Welcome back! We're going to stay with the same timeline here. It has been exactly one week since everybody has arrived, and we've checked up on everyone. Now we're moving into the second week. Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own High School Musical. I don't own Baldur's Gate. I do own several rather large rubber bands.

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Martha rubbed her sore feet. They had never hurt like this when she was practicing her hip-hop dances. They had never hurt like this after six-hour shifts in the kitchen at Lava Springs. They had never hurt like this, ever. One hour of training with Vance, though, and suddenly they flared up like the rattle of a Diamondback.

She was getting better, she knew. She could see it in Delemyn's eyes as she twirled and twisted around him, playing his roguish games. With Delemyn, it was all about confusing the opponent and getting in light blows. Then, when the opening came, you struck, and took them out. It was fun, almost like a dance. It was hard to remember that she had a real dagger in her hands and that this was not some silly little game she was playing.

There was certainly no playing with Vance, either. Vance had skill with multiple weapons, but he always seemed to point Martha towards the mace and shield. It had been difficult, at first, to try and maneuver with a shield. Once she figured out, however, that it was like give-and-take, somewhat like balancing an equation, she managed it. She had managed to disable Vance a total of three times using the mace and shield combo, and although he'd managed to get her at least ten times as many, she was proud of herself.

But it was times like these when her pride flew away like an uncaged dove. It had been a full fortnight since she had come here. Two whole weeks away from her family, her friends, her music, her life...it was frightening.

She had just gone to Delilah, as Vance had recommended a week ago, for some guidance.

"Delilah?" she asked softly, tapping on the door to the woman's room.

"Enter," the soothing voice replied. Martha thought it was much like Kelsi's piano playing, when she really got into it. Delilah noticed the sad memory flash across her mind.

"You are sad, child. Close the door, please, and tell Delilah what's on your mind," she ordered quietly, smiling sagely at the girl. Martha did as she was asked, and sat down cross-legged on the floor across from Delilah.

"I miss them," she admitted simply, "I miss them all. My mother, my father, my friends. Heck, I even miss Mrs. Britches," Martha attempted to joke, laughing sharply at the image of her overfed cat.

"Tell me about them, dear," Delilah said, scooching forward to lock knees with the girl. Martha looked up, eyes shining.

"Okay...well. My mother works a lot. She's a secretary for a law firm in town and she's always talking about the crazy people that come into the office. There was this one guy who wanted to sue his neighbor for not picking up his newspaper early enough in the mornings. And there was this really snotty old lady that kept claiming people ran her over. But she kept forgetting she'd had polio. Mom and I always used to talk about them, even though she's not supposed to, when she got home. We'd always have cookies and milk and sit at the kitchen table and talk.

"Dad's a pharmacist. He's kind of like a Cleric, here, like Patrick, except Dad works more with...well, I guess the closest thing here are potions. Anyway, he was always there when I got home and he'd ask me how my day had gone and all that. I always loved coming home to talk to him. And he always made the best dinners, too. He was so happy when he found out that I was starting to find friends.

"It wasn't like I didn't have any, before. But all they wanted to do was talk about homework and have study groups and that. I wanted friends that talked about music and dance and sports and everything under the sun. Troy and Gabby opened the door for it.

"I wish you could meet them. They're so sweet. Troy's really tall, plays basketball---do they play that here? Guess not. Well, anyway, he's the sweetest guy, and he's got a really nice voice, too. And Gabby's the new girl. She'd just moved to Albuquerque and somehow or another ended up trying out for the play---well, musical, really---with Troy. They sang together in front of nearly the whole school for their final callback. It was so sweet!

"We all started to hang out, then, but not all the time. I mean, for example, Ryan and Sharpay. Ryan worked with Troy in the theatre and stuff, but they weren't very close. He gave tips and all, and told Troy what he was doing right and wrong when it came to dancing. They just never got really tight until after Lava Springs, and even then they weren't so close. I think it's because Ryan's crushing on Gabby, but that's just me.

"And Sharpay? Well...it takes a lot to get through to her. She helped Gabby and all, mostly because she couldn't let down a performance she was in, even though she wasn't the lead. But she and Ryan didn't really connect with anybody, except maybe Kelsi. Ryan and I did talk sometimes, and he even asked me if I could teach him one of my hip-hop routines to use in the next musicale. That was fun.

"But like I said, we didn't really get close 'til Lava Springs, except for us girls. It was easy for Taylor and I, at first, because I was on the practice team for the Decathalon. Kelsi started hanging out a lot. She's really good with her music, and with math, too. I guess that goes hand-in-hand. Whatever free time Gabby had away from Troy she spent with us. But the girls had their boys, and we didn't do nearly as much shopping or gossiping together as we would've liked. Still, it was fun. I felt like I was belonging.

"And then we got to Lava Springs. Day after day in the kitchen, and suddenly you get really close with people. I didn't think I'd like the basketball boys as much as I would my girls, but I did. Jason's sweet, and naive, and so caring. I'm so glad he and Kelsi hooked up. And there's Taylor and Chad, who I thought was a real...pain, but he's not. He's just really defensive of his friends. I like that about him. And, of course, who can forget Zeke? He always wants to make everyone happy. I just wish he'd stop trying for Sharpay and go with someone else. She's just going to break his heart.

"I think that's what the Evans family specializes in, breaking hearts. I mean, Ryan and I were the only ones who didn't have anyone, y'know? I thought we would end up hooking up. He's not hot, but he's pretty. He's got these killer blue eyes, and when he's not wearing a hat he looks even better, but of course I never told him that. See, we were dancing one day, practicing for the talent show---um, kind of like a big ensemble play?---and it was just the two of us. He was trying to learn another one of my dances, and he was getting it, but he was just too shy to really grind, y'know? So I pulled him in real close, and we started dancing, and he was really getting it. And then...

"Then I was an idiot, 'cause I thought he felt it too. I thought we were both attracted to each other, so I grabbed his shirt and pulled him down and kissed him. He didn't kiss back. Not even a little. He just pulled away.

"'I'm sorry, Martha,' he says, 'I just don't feel that way about you.'

"And of course I took it with a smile and everything and told him not to worry. He's been trying to fix me up with people ever since, he and Gabby, but I keep telling them not to. I'm okay by myself. I really am," Martha finished.

Her eyes had been roving during her tale, and now they settled back onto Delilah, who still had that ethereal smile on her face. Martha wondered if she had replaced herself with some sort of statue until she spoke.

"Until now," she affirmed quietly.

"Until now," Martha agreed, eyes shooting back down to the hardwood floor. Delilah leaned forward and took Martha's hands in hers, like Vess had when she was testing for magical aptitude. But this was something entirely different. It meant something else. Martha could feel it.

Delilah's smile widened a little.

"You cannot see the wind, yet you know it is there," she said mysteriously.

Then she let go of Martha's hands and got to her feet.

"The days to come will be wearying. I recommend you get some rest, my dear," she advised, turning to her wardrobe and filtering through her simple tunics. Martha nodded, rising to her feet.

"Thanks, Delilah. I...I feel better now," Martha admitted.

"I'm glad of it, child. Nature's blessings," Delilah whispered. Martha nodded, and left.

The short walk to her room lent her no thoughts, but now, on the bed, alone, she found them. Yes, she was here. Yes, she was technically alone. But she was going to find her friends. Patrick and his party had promised.

Tomorrow they were setting out for Imnesvale, the town the group had been asked to protect until the group's leader, Mazzy, disappeared, and she appeared in her place. It had taken her two weeks to become what Patrick had tersely labeled "acceptable" so that she was no longer a liability. The party could wait no longer. They had secured all of their supplies, charted the journey on several maps. Martha could not be left behind in the city, because there was nobody there to care for her. The Fentans, Mazzy's family, would be distraught if they learned she had vanished. The town loved Mazzy's group too much to take in Martha---they would cast her as a villain, the group had decided, and distrust and mistreat her when the other members moved out.

So they were leaving tomorrow, in the wee hours of the morning, so that few people would recognize the slight change in "Mazzy's" stature. Martha was a good substitute, but she was no halfling.

Martha yawned. Delilah was right; she was going to need her sleep.

Tomorrow was the start of a new adventure, with new friends. She just hoped the old ones hadn't forgotten her.

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"Do you understand?" Condra asked.

It had become her favorite question, and Kelsi's most hated one to try and answer.

Condra kept asking it, all day long, every day, and it was only when evening was settling when Kelsi puzzled out the answer.

The first day of her second week with the Avariel, Condra pushed Kelsi to try and figure out why she was having her continue her compositions actively. Kelsi thought it was just because it was something she enjoyed doing, and it gave her a break from the rest of the day's previous activities. Condra simply smiled, shook her head, and put Kelsi through another flying exercise.

All day long, Kelsi tried to piece it together, but it just wasn't working. Her composition had helped her to fly, sure. But that had only been a distraction. It was only something to take her mind off of what she was doing and just work on auto-pilot. She was pretty sure that Condra wasn't trying to make her understand that daydreaming was good.

Then, as Kelsi was blandly reciting the Fourth Statute of the Avariel Code, word for word, she got it.

"You want me to be able to fool people," she said suddenly, "You want me to let them hear what they're supposed to hear, all together with melody and harmony. You want me to plan things out so I know exactly what's coming, and you want that to be second nature. Is that it?" she asked. Condra beamed, nodded, and concluded their lessons for the day.

Kelsi was relieved, until Condra returned the following morning with the same question.

"Do you understand?" she asked, and this time it was during a very awkward art session.

Kelsi was no painter, but Condra had insisted, so Kelsi took to painting whatever she could find when Condra asked for one. When she finished on the second day of her second week, Kelsi showed it to her. Condra pointed out certain spots and asked her why she had chosen to use her brush in that manner. Kelsi didn't understand.

It was just something she had done. She didn't have an ulterior motive. She didn't have a reason. She just did it because she thought that was the best way to try and paint the inkwell on the desk. It wasn't like she was some Picasso thinking every whichway about it.

Then, a little earlier than the time before, the idea came to her in the bath. When she returned to her room, she told Condra her thought.

"You want me to be able to understand everything I do so that I can control it?" she asked. Condra nodded, and told Kelsi to work on her compositions before getting some rest.

Then the next day came, and so the process continued, each day with Condra asking that infernal question.

"Do you understand?" the third day, while Kelsi was flying.

The answer came when she was playing the harp before dinner: "Because you want me to see everything from all sides."

"Do you understand?" the fourth day, when Kelsi was trying to remember the words to an Identify spell.

She was picking herself up off the floor in the early afternoon: "So I can defend myself against things I don't want to understand."

"Do you understand?" the fifth day, while she was blandly reciting the Twelve Tenets.

When eating lunch: "So I can talk to people that are older than me without sounding like a kid."

"Do you undertand?" the sixth day, after her morning weapons training with the quarterstaff.

An hour later: "To be able to use the simplest approach to stuff."

"Do you understand?" the seventh day, today, just ten minutes ago, when she gave her a new yellow robe to wear.

Now: "Because I'm ready."

Condra smiled.

"Yes, child. You are ready to be with them. Remember these lessons, and the ones that I will teach you in the days to come will come easily. For now, make friends and allies amongst these people---your people. You will find that it is not as difficult as it may seem," she advised, and gestured to the open balcony window.

"We shall fly together," she said, extending her hand. Kelsi looked at it warily for a moment, then nodded and took her hand.

Together they rose into the air, and flew out the window, ending Kelsi's seclusion at last.

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**Author's Note: You got this far? Fabulous! Then please review.**


	12. Paths

**Author's Note: Here's the next installment! A quick note: the scene at the end of this chapter does not assume two weeks have gone by. In the scene at the end of the chapter, only eight days have passed. I will be methodically working through to the end of the two weeks with them in the next chapter, and then move along temporally from there with these folks. Then we'll return to our other characters and guide them through to wherever I end up temporally after Chapter 13. I hope it's not too hard to follow.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own High School Musical. I don't own Baldur's Gate. I don't own a tutu or point shoes, either, and I really don't want to.

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"You can't be serious," Zeke insisted.

Heevo sighed.

"Zeke, I'm sorry. I cannot leave the city. What if Master Corthala were to return? He would assume the worst," he replied.

"You could leave a note!" Zeke parried.

"Master Corthala would think it a ploy," Heevo dismissed, "No. The decision is final. I must stay here."

"But you can't," Zeke pleaded, stepping forward a little, "I can't do this alone. I don't know where anything is in this world!"

"That's why there are maps, my boy. And don't say you can't do this. You have outclassed me with the spear by now. Any animal you meet along the way would be hard-pressed to defeat you. You will have several healing potions at your disposal to use if you get hurt. You're also taking the haste and invisibility potions in case you come across bandits and need to escape. You will be fine, Zeke," Heevo insisted.

Zeke shook his head.

"But what about the trip back? Say I don't find Master Corthala there---how am I supposed to get back? It's not like the Order's going to be waiting for me or anything!" Zeke screeched.

Heevo flinched a little. He had not wanted to think about that detail.

It had been another week, and there was still no sign of Master Corthala, nor written word, either. Heevo knew that a fortnight was far longer than Master Corthala had ever gone without word to him. Something was wrong.

He knew that the day Zeke had shown up. Perhaps that was why he had started the spear training so early. Perhaps he knew, somewhere in his mind, that Zeke would have to make this journey.

It didn't sound too frightening to a seasoned veteran like Heevo, though. Even looking at it from a neutral perspective, it seemed fine. Zeke would set out in the afternoon with the group from the Order, as Heevo had arranged. The Knights were heading to investigate matters in Tethyr, and the path to Imnesvale followed many of the same routes until one very important fork. It wasn't to be long after the fork for Zeke---a day or two, at the most---until he reached Imnesvale, if he followed the well-worn path. Heevo knew it to be fairly benign, from Master Corthala's reckoning, and so he was not worried for the boy.

Zeke would find Master Corthala in his secluded cabin outside of Imnesvale, and the two would return safely to Athkatla. That was how it was supposed to work.

But if Master Corthala were not in his cabin, then he was either living in the wilderness, trapped somewhere, or...

Heevo didn't want to think about that.

"Then you will send word from Imnesvale. If the cabin is uninhabited, you may rest there, or you may use the gold," Heevo explained, waving at the bag on the table, "To purchase a room at the Inn. Then you wait there, and I will make arrangements."

Zeke nearly looked convinced, but he was biting his lip. Heevo knew he had something to say, but didn't quite want to say it.

"Spit it out, boy," he commanded quietly.

Zeke looked up.

"I just didn't want to go anywhere without you. You're the only friend I've got left," he said quietly. Heevo stepped forward and put his hands on Zeke's shoulders.

"Look at me," he commanded. Zeke did.

"You are a strong, brave, capable young man. You know more than you think you do. Do not doubt yourself. I have faith in you. And that, Zeke, takes a lot to earn," Heevo admitted, smiling lightly. Zeke returned the gesture, albeit with less vigor.

"There's a good lad. Now go tend to your cooking. You're going to need lots of provisions for this journey," Heevo advised, pulling away with one last squeeze of Zeke's shoulders.

He was going to be all right, Heevo told himself. He just had to be.

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"I'm going to miss it," Troy said wistfully, staring back at the small cabin.

"Me too," Gabriella admitted, leaning on Troy's shoulder a little.

"But it's time to move on," Gabriella added. Troy nodded, placing a spontaneous kiss into her hair before turning around. Gabriella turned with him, slowly, and together they started down the road she had become quite accustomed to. In her guilty travels, unable to deal with the idea of the cabin and the boy inside that she loved so much but hurt so easily, she wandered down this road countless times. She didn't know where it eventually led, but she knew the scenery was beautiful.

Clad in the long purple robes that were in the wardrobe and carrying her pack on her shoulder, she felt a little silly. She felt like one of those medieval maidens promenading in the forest. It almost made her want to giggle, but she repressed it this time.

After a significant look from Troy, she had taken the book with her. It sat in her pack, its weight insignificant but still weighing her down a little. She knew Troy didn't blame her, but every time his gait changed a little as they walked, she felt her pack get a bit heavier.

But she had taken it, mostly because Troy had insisted. He had the sword, and the protection of the leather armor that he had found in the cabin. She had nothing of the like. She had insisted that she wasn't hopeless, that she had her First Aid skills and knew how to survive in the wilderness after all of those seminars she had taken. He just gave her that look of his.

"How do you survive when your arm's torn off, Gab? When a pack of wolves is chasing you, or a bear's coming after you because it thinks you'll hurt her cub? You can't outrun them, Gab. You've got to fight. And if it means hurting them until they give up, then that's what we've gotta do. And that book's your best bet," he insisted.

So she swallowed her argument and agreed to take it along. She didn't think she was going to need it, especially in a place so beautiful like this. She hadn't been attacked by any of the animals she had met, unless she counted that cute little squirrel that ran in front of her once.

"I hope there's a town close by," Troy commented.

"I haven't seen any, but I didn't go too far," Gabriella said.

They didn't say much else, just walked and looked at the works nature had wrought. Their hands were clasped, her right in his left, and although she felt silly and guilty and a little scared all at once, it felt right.

For once, it felt like they were going the right way.

Together.

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**Author's Note: Enjoy? Not enjoy? Cool, but please review.**


	13. Walking

**Author's Note: It took me forever to sit down and write this, and I think I needed the time. Sorry for the wait! Please enjoy, and please review/favorite/alert.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own High School Musical. I don't own Baldur's Gate. I do own a pair of grey sweatpants that I've worn more in the past year than I thought I would, though.**

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Day Nine

_CRACK!_

Troy sighed in relief as he continued to contort his body. Nothing like greeting the morning with a Salutation to the Sun, he thought to himself.

As he proceeded into the cobra pose, he realized that his usually airtight focus had vanished. That was okay, because all he wanted to do was stretch; he wasn't as serious as Ryan was about this kind of "unified mindset" stuff, anyway.

Ryan.

He hadn't thought he could miss an Evans, but he really, really did. Ryan, once he had gotten to know him, had become a pretty reliable source of advice. Sure, the guy wasn't so good when it came to differential equations or area underneath a curve or knowing what nuclear weapons were involved in World War II, but booklearning wasn't everything. No, Ryan had a kind of knowledge that Troy really appreciated, a knowledge that was different from Gabriella's and yet the same.

Ryan knew what to do when he lost his voice a week before _Twinkle Towne_. ("Don't talk to anyone. Write everything you want to say down on a notepad or something. And drink this: it's honey and lemon tea. It'll help your vocal cords.")

It was delicious, and Ryan had given him nearly two small boxes of the mix. In just three days' time, his voice was back to normal - maybe even better than before.

Ryan knew what to do when he'd forgotten Gabriella's birthday. ("Take her to the Heights and just talk. Maybe have a picnic or something.")

Gabriella had loved it so much that she had given him a breath-stealing French kiss when he dropped her off at her house after the date.

Ryan knew what to do when he and Zeke almost got into an all-out brawl one day over Sharpay. ("Zeke, you know how aggravating Shar can be, even if she does mean well. Well, sometimes. And Troy, you know Zeke's in love. How'd you like it if he said that about Gabriella? That's what I thought. Now hug or something before I make you two kiss.")

And just like that, he stepped out from in between them and watched, arms crossed, but smiling. It was like a disease, and Troy caught it fast. He held out his hand to Zeke and awkwardly apologized, half of his words drowned in Zeke's shirt - the baker had decided to turn the handshake into a hug.

But now he was in the middle of the wilderness, although following a well-worn trail, and he never wanted Ryan's advice more. Ryan would know what plants to eat and what ones to avoid. Ryan would know how to hold this sword and swing it true. Ryan would know how to get out of this mess.

Ryan, however, was not here.

But, as he extended his hands outward and opened his eyes to finish the exercise, there was Gabriella. She had cupped up her dress into her hands to make a makeshift basket where a bounty of fruits and berries resided.

She smiled up at him.

Maybe, just maybe, he thought, they would get through this okay.

**Day 10**

_WHOOSH!_

The pink orb flew from Gabriella's hands and embedded itself within the squealing creature before them. The creature halted for a moment, then reissued its screaming charge, heading straight for Troy.

For a second, he couldn't move. All he could see were two flailing arms on two gnarled legs covered in a mess of purple-black fur, and a mouth full of pointy white teeth screeching into the afternoon air.

Then, Gabriella's Magic Missile flew through the air. The bright pink orb brought him back, somehow. Before he knew it, his body had twisted forward, and his sword had plunged straight into the screeching mass.

It screamed one final scream of protest, then closed its black eyes in final defeat.

Troy, now shaking, withdrew his sword from the creature's stomach. He took two steps backward, then dropped his sword and fell to his knees, vomiting.

He wished Chad were here.

Chad always supported him, no matter what, even if it took him a while sometimes to come around to Troy's point of view. And more than anything right now, he needed that unconditional support. He needed Chad, who would look away politely while he threw up. He needed Chad, who would help him to his feet and get him a clean shirt to replace the one he'd sweated through already. He needed Chad, because Chad wouldn't understand, just support.

Footsteps in the grass made Troy look up from the mess in front of him. Gabriella stood there, holding his now-wet sword. He hadn't even noticed her pick it up and wash it off in the nearby stream.

He got to his feet slowly, without help, and took his sword from her. As he replaced it in its scabbard, Gabriella reached out for his arm, fumbling until she found his right hand freed from the sword's grasp, and squeezed tightly.

Maybe, just maybe, he thought, they would get through this alive.

**Day 11**

_SPLASH!_

Gabriella laughed, a tinkling giggle that made him swim over to her all the faster and attempt to force her head underwater. She laughed and swam backwards out of his way, then smirked as she disappeared underneath the water's surface. Troy looked around desperately for a few moments, then jerked forward as he felt a tugging on his legs. Down he went, into the water, where he saw a bronzed arm swim out of view before they both plunged back up to the surface.

"Gabriella Montez! Just what was that?" Troy accused, grinning.

"That was Girl Power!" Gabriella shot back, beaming as she floated over to shore and pulled herself up out of the water. Troy followed her, collapsing onto the grass next to where she had lain herself, and stared up at the sky.

He saw a cloud that vaguely resembled a pineapple, and with a half-laugh, remembered a girl in a revealing Hawaiian outfit singing a ridiculous song.

He missed Sharpay.

That didn't mean he wanted her here, precisely, but he did miss her. He missed her jokes, sometimes a little spiteful but always witty. He missed her breaking out into song as she strutted down the hallway, not caring who stared at her as she passed. He missed her not knowing where to turn when Ryan claimed Chad for his partner in a history project and not her.

She wasn't like everyone else, and no matter how hard she tried to fit in with the group after Lava Springs, she still seemed like an extra piece to the nearly-finished puzzle. But when they got to know her a little better, they realized that they had put a piece of the puzzle in the wrong spot, and when they shifted things around, suddenly Sharpay seemed to fit. It didn't look like she would at first, and it still looked weird, but it was right - she belonged with them.

Troy hoped she had someone with her now, wherever she was; Ryan, Zeke, even Kelsi. He didn't think he would have made it without Gabriella.

Without breaking his gaze from the clouds, he reached over and grasped Gabriella's left hand in his right.

Maybe, just maybe, he thought, they would get through this together.

**Day 12**

_CRUNCH._

Troy's feet ground to a stop, Gabriella's halting beside him as well.

"Which way do we go?" Gabriella asked, pursing her lips at the fork in the road.

There were no signs to guide them. Gabriella had never gotten this far in her travels during the day, so her crude map was of no help any longer, although they had been keeping track on it of the things they had passed along the way.

Troy took a deep breath.

He wished Taylor were here.

Taylor, who helped everyone with homework. Taylor, who had read an endless list of books and always raved about them. Taylor, who always had the right answer and always gave it when Gabriella or Martha were too shy to offer it.

But Taylor was not here, he knew, and Gabriella was looking to him to choose the correct path.

"Let's go this way," Troy decided, pointing to the left path.

It would be a fateful choice.

Gabriella nodded, indicated the fork on their map with a tiny mark, then rolled it up and put it back in her pack. When she was done, she took his hand and they proceeded onward.

Maybe, just maybe, he thought, they would get through this soon.

**Day 13**

_SHHHHT._

Gabriella turned the page of the book, then tucked a lock of hair behind her left ear.

"Reading this early?" Troy asked from behind. Gabriella jumped.

"Don't DO that, Troy!" she scolded, turning on the rock upon which she had been sitting. Then she grinned and grabbed his hand, bringing him down for a quick peck on the cheek.

"Seriously, you're reading this early?" Troy repeated, grinning as he sat down on the rock next to her.

She scooted to the right a little to give him some more room, not meeting his eyes.

"Yes. Is that a problem?" she asked, her voice a little tight.

"No," Troy said slowly, "I was just..." he trailed off. He wasn't sure what he had meant by it.

Well, that wasn't entirely true.

He was happy to see her reading the book, learning its lore, mastering its spells - or, at least, trying. It had been her magic, after all, that had allowed them to beat that...whatever it was that had ambushed them three days ago. He couldn't fight on his own, and win - at least not yet. And although he wanted to keep her from harm, he knew she wouldn't stay away from his battles. This was the next best thing: a way to keep her involved, but keep her away from the front lines.

"I can cast Sleep now," she whispered after a moment.

Troy smiled.

"Does that do what I think it does?" he asked.

She nodded, still not looking at him.

Troy wished Jason were here.

He wasn't very smart, but he was perceptive. He would know what Gabriella's sudden inability to not meet his eyes meant. He would know why she never read when he was awake. He wouldn't know what to say, but he would know what her actions meant.

Troy didn't have a clue what to do, and Jason wasn't there to give his simple advice.

("Just tell her what's on your mind, Troy," Ryan whispers.)

("Division's the last thing you want to do with this equation," Taylor reminds him.)

("It's gonna be okay," Chad says.)

("Get your head out of your ass and hug the damn girl," Sharpay snips.)

("Just do it," Jason advises.)

Troy reached over with his left hand and pulled Gabriella's face to face his.

"Gabriella," he began, firmly. Her eyes flicked upward to his.

"I'm proud of you. And I couldn't do this without you," he admitted.

She smiled, and wrapped him in a fierce hug.

The book in her lap tumbled to the ground.

As they kiss, Troy can't help but think:

Maybe, just maybe, they would get through this victorious.

**Day 14**

_Silence._

"It's beautiful," Gabriella whispered.

Troy can't make his voice work, so he just squeezes her hand tighter.

The world in front of them is lush. Green grass, green trees, green everything. Birds are singing. Squirrels run from tree to tree. Even a groundhog makes an appearance before scampering back down into its hole once again.

But the most beautiful thing is the sight off to their right, maybe a half-mile away.

It is a town.

A town with children laughing. A town with chickens clucking. A town with merchants advertising their wares.

It is small, and it is quaint, but it is paradise to Troy.

Gabriella steps forward and reads the rough wooden sign that stands before a small creek with large stepping stones for a path through it.

"'Welcome to Imnesvale,'" she reads. "Well, it looks pretty friendly, Troy. What'd'ya say we check it out?" she offers.

Troy smiles, squeezes her hand once more, then steps across the stones with her and into the outskirts of the tiny town.

Maybe, just maybe, they'll find some answers here.

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**Author's Note: There's a reason this focuses only on Troy and Gabriella's journey, but that takes a lot of explaining that Chad will do much, much later in the story. But you'll find out what I'm up to eventually!**

**So! Troy and Gabriella are in the town of Imnesvale, and two full weeks have passed for every character. Please join me next time when we return to Taylor & Chad, Jason & Garrick, and Ryan & Sharpay! I'm ready to start kicking the plot into high gear, so hold onto your seats, ladies and gents!**

**Please review!**


	14. Winnows

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Author's Note: Welcome back, and I apologize for the delay. Finals plus plays plus a Taylor-centric chapter gives me a lot of pause. But here we are! And to remind you, two weeks have passed since every character has arrived in this new, mystical world. Please enjoy!

**Disclaimer: I don't own Baldur's Gate. I don't own High School Musical. I do own some lovely brownies, though!**

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She felt a little guilty leaving Chad snoring all by his lonesome, but the best time for harvesting winnows--a type of rare flower Taylor had discovered growing just outside the grounds of the Keep--was at nighttime. Jaheira's book had said that in order to cast the Entangle spell correctly, she needed winnows to accent it, at least at first. Something about aligning herself with the proper earth elements - she didn't quite understand that, as there were no other texts in the Inn to cross-reference the terminology Jaheira had used.

But it didn't matter. She would figure it out through experimentation - if there was enough winnow to do multiple tests, of course. One couldn't be too careful with one's specimens, after all. And even though she'd only need the winnows until she got used to finding her Silvanus - whatever that was - she still couldn't waste valuable components.

It was kind of funny. Here she was in a world that was nothing like her own, full of strange creatures that practiced strange customs and magics, and she was still a scientist. She was following a book written by a woman who probably would have been exactly the woman she, Taylor, would be condeming. Yet she still followed it. She still found something in its words that called to the scientist in her. Something said that this was the thing she had been missing all along. The thing she couldn't find in her perfectly-controlled laboratory.

She smiled to herself as she saw the silver flowers of the winnow up ahead. They were right where she had found them on her afternoon stroll: right by the grove of oak trees. This was the smaller patch; the larger patch was around the bend, a little further from the Inn but still not too far.

Taylor bent down in the grass, pulling the pack from her shoulders as she knelt. She had brought a simple dagger from the stash of weaponry she and Chad had found their first day, and some glass vials she had borrowed from Madame Mirrorshade, the temple priestess at the Inn. Slowly, she harvested the winnows, packing them neatly into the vials. She had brought five, feeling that would be enough, especially for her initial experimentation. And just as she thought, the small patch wasn't going to give her five; it only gave her about three, three and a half. She would need to get to the large patch tonight in order to fill them all, and tonight was the only night she was going to get to do it without letting Chad know.

She got to her feet and began to move on.

It wasn't as if she was ashamed of herself or anything. It was just that she didn't want to have Chad worrying about her. Not when he was finally finding something that made him light up. She had thought that only basketball could do that - but research was really his thing. Historical research, cartographical research, sociological research; it was what he was doing and he was clearly loving it. Never before had she noticed the sarcasm that punctuated most of what Chad said - not until it was gone. And it was gone now, replaced with an enthusiasm that surprised her every time they compared notes over dinner.

Where was that big patch at? Taylor remembered it being not too far away from the first, so it should be right about -

There.

She confidently rushed forward to the patch, dagger in hand. As she neared the patch, she heard a noise.

A crackling, twig-snapping noise.

An "I'm not alone, am I?" noise.

Then silence.

Then:

"RWAAAAAAARGH!"

Taylor bit back a scream as she turned toward the noise, dagger held in front of her like a flashlight. The skies were clear and the moon was shining, but it had trouble pervading through some of the tree cover. But when she saw them, she wished they had returned to the shadows.

Three figures, humanoid in stature but in nothing else. Their faces were horribly disfigured, something between a dog and a nightmarish cartoon goblin. What skin that showed underneath their leather armor and helmets glowed red in the moonlight.

And all of a sudden they were running towards her, and all she had was her dagger and some winnows and a very, very sudden wish that she was back home where the most she had to worry about was misbalancing chemical equations.

Fear held her still as they charged. She held her dagger in front of her still, hoping against hope that it would somehow deter them. It didn't.

As they closed in on her, swords in meaty red hands-but-not-hands, something finally clicked inside of her. She ducked under the first swing, spinning madly to the left to dodge the other two slashes. After caterwauling for a few moments, she found her feet and began to run. She dashed a loop around the three monsters, dodging their strikes with a nimbleness she didn't know she had, setting a course for the inn.

But very, very soon she began to tire, and each time she looked back, the three were getting closer and closer. She knew she wasn't going to make it back to the Inn. She was going to have to put as much distance as she could and then...

She stopped running and whirled, dagger at the ready. Words came to her lips before she even recognized what they were: words to the Barkskin spell. Surprisingly, when she finished the chant, her skin transmuted into a barklike covering; she hadn't needed the reagents she'd been using all this time!

But there was no time to celebrate that victory. The monsters were closing in - no, they were there.

The one in the lead slashed wildly at her. She easily jumped backward to avoid the swing. It brought the sword up into a two-fisted jab at her stomach, which she again dodged, this time sliding to her left. As she did so, she cut at its arm with the dagger and red blood spurted from it into the night air.

The other two moved in on her, one on each side. The left swung first; she moved right, right into the right's supposed trap, but she used the momentum to plow into the monster instead, knocking the sword from its meaty grasp. Her dagger inadvertently plunged into its chest. She almost didn't feel the blood on her fingers as she rolled off of its dead body and struggled to her feet.

One dead, one injured, and one at perfect health. She was out of breath, out of weapons, and out of ideas. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the dead monster's sword. Could she get to it in time? She hoped so.

Desperately, she scrambled for it, but the healthy monster was ready for her. It swung its blade into Taylor's side, slicing into her Barkskin and the blood underneath. She crumbled to the ground with a cry.

The wounded monster moved in, sword held high. She flinched - both from the pain in her side and her death to come - before she noticed the sword stop its two-handed descent. The monster toppled over with a gurgle.

But there was no time to celebrate that victory. The last monster stabbed her in the stomach.

Taylor's world erupted into pain. Life was pain; death was pain; all was pain. Pain, writhing and contorting on the ground, her blood spilling with each movement: pain.

Through the haze, she barely saw the sword going for her throat get deflected at the last second by a propelled body. She barely heard the swordplay once both bodies got to their feet, and the scream of agony that accompanied the monster's demise. She barely felt the touch of her savior's hand on her face, smoothing her skin, or his rooting through her pack. She barely tasted the berries he pushed into her mouth.

And as the world faded into black, she barely whispered his name.

**

* * *

Author's Note: Thanks for reading. Please review.**


	15. Oghma

**Author's Note: Welcome back. Sorry for the wait. Last time, Taylor got herself into a little tangle. Now we turn to Ryan, in Candlekeep.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Baldur's Gate. I don't own High School Musical. I do own two dolphin posters, however.**

* * *

"I thought you said you weren't interested in Oghma," Derren rebuked lightly.

Ryan flinched and sat the book back down on the pedestal. He turned to see Derren, lit candle in hand, clad in a light blue bathrobe, one eyebrow raised. Ryan hoped the smirk was one of amusement.

"I never said I wasn't interested in Oghma," Ryan protested, meekly sticking his hands into the side pockets of his black leggings.

"True. You just said he was about as interesting as waiting for a robin's egg to hatch. Which was rather poetic, by the way," Derren complimented, smirking even wider.

Ryan blushed.

"I read it somewhere," he muttered, looking down at the gleaming white marble of the temple.

Derren took a step forward, bringing the candlelight further onto Ryan's jet black vest.

"Nothing wrong with that, Ryan. Oghma delights in those who take solace in literature," Derren remarked.

Ryan looked up.

"Look, Ryan, if you wanted to learn about the...flashier...aspects of being a cleric, I'll be glad to teach you. Oghma _is_ the god of knowledge, after all. I'm quite sure He would want me to impart His knowledge to whomever will listen, even if you don't want to be one of His acolytes. Who knows? The information might come in handy someday," Derren added, smiling as he rested his free right hand on Ryan's right shoulder. He peered down at the book on the pedestal, bringing the candle closer as he read.

"Ah, the Curing spells. That's what you were reading up on. A good choice, my friend. Our bread and butter, if you will allow the turn of phrase," Derren continued.

"I thought it might be helpful," Ryan whispered.

Derren turned to face Ryan, bringing the candle close.

"It will be, if you wish to learn it. And you do not have to turn to Oghma for your aid. I will show you the rituals for every god and goddess. Whichever one you choose to worship will be your choice. What do you say, Ryan?" Derren offered, his smile seeming to gleam in the dim candlelight.

Ryan added his smile to the light.

"Sure, Derren. We'll start tomorrow?" he asked.

Derren opened his mouth to respond, but let out only a short, shallow gasp. His eyes bulged, went glassy for a moment, and then he fell. The candle fell with him, somehow not extinguishing as it fell, allowing Ryan but a glimpse of a figure where Derren was once standing.

"Your turn!" the figure growled, the rough timbre of his voice accentuated by the clatter of the candle onto the marble floors. Derren continued to gasp in pain. And it was all so loud...

So loud...

The figure charged, his dagger raised high for the lethal plunge into Ryan's heart. But Ryan had already grabbed the book from the pedestal and swung it at the man's head. The knife sunk into the thick tome, but failed to penetrate anything else. The man cried out just as Ryan stumbled backwards from the force of his attack.

Through the dim light, Ryan saw the man stumbling to his feet. Panicky, he looked to his right for a weapon. Then to his left. Then down.

He flipped the book onto the white marble floor and tugged at the knife. It was in deep. The man was shaking his head and pulling another knife from his belt. Ryan yanked harder. The man advanced slowly, smiling devilishly into the darkness as he neared. Ryan screamed in frustration. The man lifted the blade high. Ryan finally wriggled the knife free.

And in one quick, tense moment, Ryan charged upwards, plunging the knife into the man's stomach. The man grunted in pain and Ryan cried out as he hit the floor, landing atop the man.

Ryan looked down.

The man's mouth was moving, but no sound issued. His right hand gripped the blade tightly, at first, then slowly relinquished its grip until the man's eyes lost their light.

The blade clattered to the ground.

Derren groaned.

"DERREN!" Ryan screamed, dashing over to his fallen friend. Derren was on his side, panting - but alive.

"Ryan - potion. Crate. Blue," he gasped out. Ryan blinked for a few moments, then sprang into action, grabbing the still-lit candle from where it lay on the white floor. Frantically, Ryan ripped off the lid to a crate.

Books.

He shoved it aside. It landed with a crash. He opened the crate underneath it.

Potions!

All blue, all slim, all seeming the same. Ryan grabbed one and ran back over to Derren. Shakily, he knelt and set the candle down on the floor. Then, with a quivering hand, he removed the stopper to the blue vial and directed it to Derren's trembling lips. Ryan tipped the vial slowly, but jerkily; much of the potion spilled down Derren's chin and onto the white floor. When it emptied, Ryan took it from Derren's mouth and watched intently, waiting for the worst.

Derren's rapid breathing slowed. He stopped groaning. His eyes focused on Ryan again.

"I can Cure myself now, Ryan," he said slowly and quietly. Ryan just sat and stared, listening to the short chant.

When Derren had completed the spell, he looked over to see the man on the floor.

"Is he dead?" he asked, just as quiet as before.

Ryan said nothing.

"Come, Ryan. We need to inform the Watchers. Come, now. Up you go," Derren directed, guiding a limp Ryan to his feet. Ryan stumbled and nearly fell, so Derren quickly reached a hand around his waist to hold him up. With his free left hand, he slung Ryan's arm around his shoulder for balance.

"Come on, buddy. It's going to be all right. I've got you," Derren whispered.

Together, they descended the white marble steps, Derren supporting Ryan almost wholly, and sought out a guard.

* * *

**Author's Note: Hate it? Love it? Whatever your thoughts, please share them!**


	16. Homesick

**Author's Note: Welcome back. And I do really, really, really apologize for the wait. I just had to get Status Quo nailed down first. If you remember, last time Ryan found some trouble in Candlekeep. We return to Candlekeep now.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Baldur's Gate. I don't own High School Musical. I don't own chocolate ice cream or pecans.**

* * *

Her brother had never been so quiet. He had been prone to needing moments by himself more and more as they grew up, and as they increased so did her need to override them. There were few things in life that Sharpay was pretty sure she needed. Her parents were one. A good look was another.

Ryan was the last.

And oddly enough, the theatre was not among them. In the past fortnight, she had found herself relaxing. She had duties - among them helping the cook with dinner, which she never knew took so much time and effort - that kept her busy, but even they were not a challenge. It was fun to be here. It was fun to be playing a role without all the pressure of getting everything right.

But one look at Ryan's gaunt face last night brought the fun to an abrupt end.

He hadn't spoken a word since then, and the priest - Derren, was it? - directed both her and Gorion not to broach the subject. Ryan would talk about it when he was ready, he said. Then he left Gorion's room with two Watchers - members of the Candlekeep guard - without another word.

So that was supposed to be that. Gorion had cut her off when she tried to hug her brother.

"Leave him be, child."

"Gorion, move. Ryan is my responsibility and I am not going to rest until I find out what happened."

Gorion raised an eyebrow, but didn't budge.

"To help him, or to help yourself?"

She glared.

"Of course to help my brother, you nimrod! Now MOVE!"

"No."

"What do you mean, 'No?'"

"I mean no. It is best."

"Don't tell me what's best for my brother, I'm pretty sure I know!"

Ryan looked up for the first time, up into her eyes.

She took a step backward.

"I...I'll see you in the morning, Ry," she promised, and sprinted out the door.

She got no further than the other side of it before she stopped and threw herself against the wall, her hands covering her eyes. Slowly she slid down the wall to the floor, sobbing.

When she awoke, she discovered two things: one, that the floor was ridiculously hard and not a good thing to sleep on; and two, that someone had covered her with a blanket and put a pillow behind her head.

"He fell asleep just before the sunrise. I am going to speak with Ulraunt today about security. I suggest you do your morning training. It will give Ryan time to sleep and you something to do to keep your mind off of him," Gorion said, rising from the hard-backed wooden chair on the opposite side of the hallway. As he stood, his back whined and cracked. "Oof. Next time, remind me to conjure some cushions."

And off he went.

So that was supposed to be that.

As much as she hated to admit it, he had a point. So she left to train with Obe the Illusionist, battling imaginary creatures and trying not to get marked by their "weapons", which were really just mustard-tipped sticks. They poked when she didn't dodge fast enough or mishandled her tiny buckler, but they didn't really hurt. Just more make-believe.

But as she walks the grounds of Candlekeep now, she knows the fun is over. She must perform everything to perfection, or else there will be blood instead of rotten tomatoes staining her outfit - blood that may very well not be her own.

* * *

Chad delicately closes the damp cloth around the winnows. She will be happy to see them when she wakes up.

He thought his worst fear was of a huge spider bearing down on him. He had been wrong.

Taylor's scream was his worst fear. Her bleeding all over him was his worst fear. Her life slipping away was his worst fear.

It had started all so innocently. He had felt her get out of bed - for all the things Taylor was, sneaky was not one of them. So he waited for a minute to give her a head start and then followed her. He assumed she was just going to try and sneak a snack from the kitchens or read downstairs because she couldn't sleep. But when she slipped out of the door to the Friendly Arm Inn and into the night, it gave him pause. Some instinct made him trudge back upstairs to grab a sword - and his pack. Something told him traveling at night was dangerous without a weapon.

Right now, he wants to hug that something until its eyes bug out.

Taylor's tracks weren't too hard to follow, thanks to recent rains and his studying of tracking patterns in the books he'd found. He had tracked her a small ways into the surrounding forest when she had screamed.

His brain left him for a moment and he blindly ran towards the sound, not caring who or what got in his way. He tripped twice over tree roots, his sword tumbling out of his hands, but each time he scrabbled it up and kept running.

Then he saw her, amidst three Hobgoblins. They were dangerous but stupid creatures, humanoid in shape but nothing else. Most of them were common bandits. They probably supposed Taylor had something on her worth stealing.

One was dead. One was hurt. One was advancing on her. He had the element of surprise, but they had the element of close quarters. They were just so far away - too far.

But they were close enough.

His first kill was easy, but the second was harder. He had to leap at the Hobgoblin to get it away from Taylor, then scramble for his sword and fight the creature. Somehow he managed to parry its attacks for a few tense moments, his last manuever unbalancing the creature just enough to give him the opening he needed. It never saw it coming.

Taylor barely saw him, either. She was alternatively moaning and screaming from the pain. He saw two wounds: one on her arm, fairly shallow; and one deep in her stomach, bleeding like a rushing river.

He threw off his pack and scrounged up the Goodberries she had created. With shaking hands he slipped the berries into her mouth, massaging her jaw and throat to make her chew and swallow. With each one the wound began to bleed less and less, until after the fourth and final the wounds had sealed themselves with shiny red scars.

"Taylor?" he had asked. But she had slipped into unconsciousness.

He fireman-carried her all the way back to the Inn, depositing her into the bed. He made sure to cover her up before he sprinted downstairs to the innkeeper's room, hoping Madame Mirrorshade was lying with her husband that night. She came to the door instead of her husband and dashed up the stairs in her nightgown to check on Taylor.

"You healed her well, my boy. She will recover. Make sure she rests, drinks plenty of water to recover her strength, and you may travel the day after tomorrow," she said.

"Travel?" he asked.

"Yes. You children are too young to be out on your own. Go back to your homes, my dear. Your parents will take you both in, I'm sure. Whatever you did or whatever they said, they will welcome you. The road is no place for young love," she explained. Then she yawned and got to her feet. "I had might as well open the Temple now. It's nearly sunrise. If she doesn't awaken by day's end, come find me."

And off she went.

So that was supposed to be that.

Just go home and rest and everything will be okay.

It's been nine hours since she said it. The sun has risen and climbed into the bright summer sky, and the idea is still equally alluring and stupid.

He wishes they can go home. Wishes they could just push the reset button on the X-Box 360 and return to the last save point, wishes they can even turn the game off and go back to their regular lives. But this is no game.

This, for whatever reason, is now his life.

And for whatever reason, his reason for living it opens her eyes.

"Chad," she whispers.

He is home.

Now all he has to do is rest.

* * *

"Wake up, you bleedin' fool! Today's the day!"

Jason groans and rolls over.

"Come on! Don't make me pour water on ya!"

Jason rolls onto his back and opens his eyes.

Two inches from his nose is Garrick.

He screams and accidentally headbutts him, sending Garrick crashing to the floor.

A moment of stunned silence passes before they break into laughter.

"Jason, I demand an apology!"

"For what? Being an idiot? You're forgiven."

Garrick frowns and crosses his arms.

"Fine. See if I get you up on Market Day ever again!"

"Oh, come on, 'Rick. You know I'm just kidding."

"I'll just go off by myself, that's fine, go ahead and sleep..."

"I'm up, Garrick, it's okay. Look, look, I'm sorry, alright? I'm just grumpy in the mornings, that's all. I didn't mean anything by it."

Garrick rolls his eyes and shakes his head, but he's smiling.

"Jason, Jason, Jason. When are you going to learn?"

"Learn what?"

"Learn that you're playin' with the lad who invented the guilt trip. You keep up like this and I'll play you like a lute, my friend!"

"Garrick! You knew I was - and then you - and then I - OOH!"

Jason vaults out of the bed and lunges at Garrick, who rolls out of the way with a cry. Jason catches Garrick's leg as he tries to crawl out the open door and uses his strength to pull the flailing bard backwards. They wrestle for a few moments until Garrick flinches and reaches for his stomach.

Jason backs off immediately.

"Still hurts?"

Garrick nods.

"Maybe we shouldn't do this today."

"No, Jason, I'll be fine. Just a little tender, that's all. Come on. A walk isn't going to hurt me."

After a quick breakfast of porridge and colorless toast, the two head out into the streets of Beregost to see what the harvest has brought. Jason feels like he's back home, at the Farmer's Market, helping Dad pick out corn to roast with their steak on the grill.

But he's not back home.

And somehow, with Garrick laughing next to him and he laughing right along, that's really not so bad.

* * *

**Author's Note: Please be a pal and review. I'd love to hear your thoughts.**


	17. Recovery

**Author's Note: Welcome back. A slightly quicker update than usual - yay! We're back to some familiar faces from the past few chapters. Enjoy them - they're going to take a nice, long break very soon. Please review!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own High School Musical. I don't own Baldur's Gate. I also don't own a pair of nail clippers that don't make me flinch when I use them.**

* * *

"That armor looks really sturdy. The tanner must've worked hard on it."

"Don't change the subject, 'Rick. Where'd you get that gold?"

Jason crosses his arms and fixes Garrick with a glare. Garrick shifts his foot on the dirt road, kicking around gravel.

"C'mon Jason, it's not like I held him at knifepoint or anything."

Jason keeps glaring.

"It's part of a bard's nature, you know. If you can't make enough gold with your tales, you...pinch."

Glare.

"He looked like a really rich merchant anyway, that guy. Probably wouldn't know charity if it bit him on the arse."

Glare.

Then:

"You could've just told me you found it on the ground."

"Oh. Then I found it on the ground."

"Liar."

But Jason smiles anyway and claps Garrick on the back. The force sends Garrick sprawling forward a couple steps.

"Thanks for being honest, though. There's hope for you yet," Jason says.

"Thanks."

"Just...try not to steal, all right? I don't want you getting caught and going to jail or something."

"I'll try."

And so they continue walking through the streets of Beregost, enjoying Market Day. Garrick buys a new set of bracers for Jason ("Yours barely fit you, and besides: they're all nasty!") and a reserve sling and smooth stones for ammunition that Jason learned were called bullets ("Just in case we run out of everything else!"), along with filling his quiver full with arrows ("You were born to be an archer, I've seen your shot - just take them, okay?").

The sun threatens to close their day as they recline on identical bales of hay on the outskirts of town.

"This was a good day," Garrick says.

"Yeah," Jason replies.

"So...uh...where are we going next?" Garrick asks.

"Next?"

"Yeah. You're an adventurer. You make your living on the road. So where are we going?"

"I...guess to find my friends."

"And where are they?"

"I don't know."

"Oh."

"I don't even know if they came with me."

Garrick turns from the sunset to study Jason.

"You don't know where they are?"

Jason shakes his head.

"Any idea where they could be?"

Another shake of the head.

"Okay. We'll start looking tomorrow."

"Where?" Jason asks.

"Everywhere. We'll stick to the Sword Coast at first, hit all the big names. Nashkel, High Hedge, the Friendly Arm, Gullykin, Baldur's Gate...maybe Candlekeep if we can sneak in somehow."

"Sneak in? Garrick, I thought I told you - "

"Unless you have a book worth a bajillion gold, Jason, we're not getting in. The monks are really picky about who they let in. Only a really rare book'll get you past the gates."

"Oh."

Jason turns from the sunset to meet Garrick's gaze.

"I guess we can start with whatever's closest."

"The High Hedge it is, then."

Jason holds out his hand. Garrick clasps it.

"Why are you doing this?" Jason asks suddenly.

"You saved my life," Garrick replies immediately, "I owe you one. And besides - I like you. You're a good guy. A much better master than Silke was, anyway."

Jason shakes his head, but doesn't break their clasped handshake.

"I'm nobody's 'master'. I'm just Jason." He smiles, lost in his memory for a moment. "We're in this together, Garrick."

* * *

"Stop babying me, Chad, or I'll cut off your balls and feed them to the cat."

"Tay? We don't have a cat."

"Then I'll feed them to a cow or something."

"Cows are vegetarians."

"That's what the 'or something' was for! Now let go!" Taylor demands, ripping her arm free from Chad's grip.

"Are you sure?" he asks. Taylor glares. "All right, all right! I just want to make sure."

"That's very sweet of you," Taylor admits, "But you should know babying an injury doesn't help it heal."

"I know." But common sense doesn't show up when Taylor's concerned. He wishes he could think when it comes to her, but every time he finds himself acting before he thinks, talking before he thinks, doing everything before he thinks.

But if he has time - lots of it - he does everything right.

(Or so he thinks. But just a short twenty-four hours earlier, he acted on instinct and saved her life. But this moment is just a fluke, not a moment of triumph.)

Taylor finally makes it back to the bed and gingerly clambers in. Chad rocks back and forth, itching to help her but knowing he shouldn't.

Finally, after many tempting flinches on her part, Chad sees that she is comfortable.

"So what's next?" he asks.

Taylor doesn't respond for a few moments. She's always thinking, always waiting, always doing the smart thing, always everything he's not.

"We either stay here where it's safe and wait for news, or hit the road and try and hope someone else is lost here. We don't even know if everybody came with us," Taylor says.

They could be all alone.

All alone in this terribly weird place.

"We should wait."

"We should go."

They speak almost simultaneously, and as usual Chad speaks first. Out of turn. Wrong.

But he doesn't relinquish position.

"Wait. You want to go?" he asks.

"Yes," Taylor replies.

"After...that?" Chad points to Taylor's lightly bandaged stomach.

"Especially after this." Taylor grimaces. "Chad, I can't let this beat me. Not going outside again is letting it beat me. Letting you help me around the Inn is letting it beat me. Not trying to get out of here - which is what we have to do, we can't just wait - that's letting it beat me. That's not going to happen."

And although he desperately wants to wait, desperately wants to stop himself from blurting out his words, he just can't help it.

"Taylor, this isn't going to beat you. You're fine - Madame Mirrorshade cleared you hours ago. But we're not ready to go." Chad manages to stop for a second, but only a second. "I'm not ready to go."

But only a second seems to work.

"You're scared I'm going to get hurt."

"It's not just that." He admits it - surprising even himself. But he is far different than the Chad of two-and-a-half weeks ago. "I need to learn how to fight better. You need to learn more of Jaheira's spells. We have to prepare to go out there, or more of those hobgoblins will kill us."

"We wouldn't travel at night, Chad - I won't let myself get ambushed like that again."

"I know. But what if we get attacked by an ogre? Or a half-giant? You think you know how to fight something that big?"

This gives Taylor pause; her mouth stops midway in the midst of shaping a counterargument.

"What about a mage who casts fireballs and acid arrows? Or a basilisk that can turn you to stone with just a look?" Chad finally steps over to her and takes her hand. "And I can't believe I'm saying this, but we need to study."

Taylor looks Chad straight in the eye, staring him down. Then she laughs.

"All right. We'll stay. But I'm not giving up on the you-not-helping-me thing."

"You got it," Chad says, sliding into the bed alongside her. He leans in to nuzzle at her neck. Her right shoulder moves a little.

WHACK!

Chad leans back, rubbing his head. Taylor grins, holding Jaheira's book.

"If we're going to study, we're going to follow one of _my_ schedules," Taylor says.

Chad groans.

He and his big mouth.

* * *

**Author's Note: Hope you enjoyed, and please review!**


	18. Mistiming

**Author's Note: Welcome back. We are returning to the other cast of characters now, so brush up on their chapters if you need to (the last set were 10-13) and enjoy the chapter! And as always, I'll beg you to PLEASE review. :)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own High School Musical. I don't own Baldur's Gate. I do own three forks, however.**

* * *

It really was a beautiful lake. A bit in the middle of nowhere, but Zeke actually liked that. It was a little like him, now - in the middle of nowhere.

He had set out for Imnesvale, as per Heevo's instructions, with the knights from the Order of the Most Radiant Heart. They had been a fairly ignominous bunch, and a little too zealous for his tastes, spouting on and on about glory and honor and virtue like it was no tomorrow. But a few of the younger squires were interesting and chatted with Zeke about random things. One of the knights even gave Zeke some pointers on how to use his spear to deliver a finishing blow, something Heevo never let Zeke attempt.

"Better to have them at your mercy, so you can get information out of them," he had said. Wise advice, Zeke thought, but not always helpful against things like trolls and bears - which the party had run into along the way.

He needn't have worried - the knights were more than capable of slaying the roving monsters. Zeke tried to stay out of the way as best as he could, preferring not to fight if he didn't have to.

"If you're in a tangle and somebody else has your back, don't distract them. Keep your distance and let them do the hard work," Heevo had said.

All too soon - or perhaps not soon enough for an anxious Zeke - they reached the fork where Zeke was to depart. The knights wished him well and a few of them cast some light boons on him to protect him as he walked.

But that had been two days ago, and now he was in the middle of nowhere next to a lake that wasn't on his map, and he had no idea where he was going. He'd told Heevo that he wouldn't be able to follow the map very well, but of course Heevo wasn't going to listen. His faith overrode his common sense.

It was a nice character flaw, but right now it was a flaw that Zeke was really hating.

Still, he'd gotten this far, so he figured he'd just keep walking until he found a river or a stream. Towns always sprang up by water - he was paying attention in Ancient History class for that one - and although there were none by this lake, it seemed large enough that it would draw attention from animals and humans alike.

In the distance, a twig snapped. Voices carried through the air, muffled murmurs held aloft by the wind. But Zeke heard them - and he wasn't going to wait around long enough to figure out who they belonged to. Heevo had told him about bandits and mercenaries who would kill anybody who got in their way, just for fun. Zeke didn't believe him at first until he and Heevo watched an alley near the Thieves' Guild from the rooftop of a nearby building.

Four gruesome murders in one hour were enough to convince him of the better part of valor.

He reached into his pocket and found one of the purple potions Heevo had given him. He ripped off the cork drained the liquid, and tossed the bottle into the bushes. Immediately his body vanished from all sight.

The voices were coming closer and Zeke had two routes to choose. He hesitated briefly at the forked paths - they were what had made him stop to recline by the lake, initially - and then took the eastern one, not daring to look over his shoulder as he ran.

* * *

Martha was tired - very, very tired. More tired than she had been in her training with Vance. Even more tired than she had been rehearsing for the musical.

She sighed. Of course she had to think about home. Not an hour - not even barely a half-hour - seemed to go by without something reminding her of home. Quite frankly, it was starting to get on her nerves just as much as it saddened her.

But she had no time for musing. She was up front with Delemyn today, scouting out the area before the rest of the party. She thought it a very kind thing of Delemyn to do, at first. If any traps went off before he could spot them or an ambush overwhelmed him, he'd be sacrificing himself so that the rest of the party would be safe.

"I get the first chance at the kill, luv," he had told her, grinning his sometimes sinister and frightening grin, "Tha's why I'm always the scout."

She hoped there was some tenderness in there - she had seen it, heard it even, but sometimes she wondered if it were all an act.

He wasn't fooling around now, though. Every now and again he would offer her suggestions or ask her to identify tracks in the ground made by heavier creatures. It was slow going, but she was learning as much as she could as quickly as she could.

Of course, she still didn't have the whole "moving silently" thing down. Her foot stepped, snapped, and cracked at least the twentieth twig of the day.

"Martha!" Delemyn hissed.

"Sorry, Del. I've got bigger feet than you!" she snapped back. She sighed and rose back up again.

A blur of movement caught her eye.

They had been following the course of a lake Delemyn knew very well. He had said it was the first marker to remember if you were taking the winding course into Imnesvale, which they were doing. And up ahead, a blur of something brown and green caught her eye. She thought it was a person.

Maybe another party's scout. Maybe a bandit scout.

She immediately tensed and crouched. Delemyn took notice immediately and did the same; without speaking, his eyes asked what she had seen. She pointed.

But the blur had vanished.

She rose.

"I'm sorry, Del. I thought I saw somebody, but it must've just been the bushes," she apologized.

"Quiet, lass. Get down and wait. Ye may've been right," Delemyn muttered. As stealthily as a cat, Delemyn snuck onto the scene. She watched as he moved, quietly and quickly, pictured his eyes roving everywhere and nowhere all at once, in search of a clue.

She heard the rest of the party approaching behind her. She held a hand out behind her in warning, trusting that they would stop; they did, knowing Delemyn's caution signal well.

A long whistle sounded - Delemyn was finished. The party came forward, Martha and Patrick in the lead.

"Anything?" Patrick asked. Delemyn held up a purple potion bottle and a cork.

"The girl was right," Delemyn said simply, "Whoever 'twas decided ta split. He took the path ta Imnesvale."

Martha saw the tracks as well - still quite fresh, but spread out. Whoever it was had been running.

"Invisibility potion?" Vess asked, nodding at the potion bottle.

"Aye," Delemyn replied.

"Whoever it was, we'll likely meet them when we get there. Until then, I do not believe they are a threat," Delilah said.

"Otherwise why would they have run?" Martha asked. Delilah nodded, smiling.

"Very well. Martha, good work. We'll set up camp here for a while, just in case our friend comes back with reinforcements," Patrick commanded.

Vance gave Martha a wink as the rest of the party set down their packs, but she barely recognized it.

Had Patrick actually...complimented her?

"I guess miracles do happen," she muttered to herself, smiling weakly back at Vance.

* * *

**Author's Note: Transitional chapters can be a pain, but there you go. Hope you enjoyed and please review!**


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